


Braille

by up_the_tower_1001



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blind Steve Rogers, Depression, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Modern Era, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Seduction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:28:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/up_the_tower_1001/pseuds/up_the_tower_1001
Summary: Where was he? It was impossibly dark, and there were voices. There was shouting. They were shouting his name?She took my eyes. Oh god she took them.Steve clutched his head and tried to think. What was happening? The voices were blurring together and echoing in his head. Someone was grabbing his arm. He shook them.There! There was a voice. He knew that voice. It was a woman’s...no, wait, a man’s?He didn’t feel himself hit the ground.





	1. Fear Behind the Eyes

Where was he? It was impossibly dark, and there were voices. There were shouting. They were shouting his name?

    _She took my eyes. Oh god, she took them._

    Steve clutched his head and tried to think. What was happening? The voices were blurring together and echoing in his head. Someone was grabbing his arm. He shook them.

    There! There was a voice. He knew that voice. It was a woman’s...no, wait, a man’s?

    He didn’t feel himself hit the ground.

   

The next time he woke up was a lot slower. He drifted into consciousness with a disorientation that lasted longer than it should have. Feeling spread over his body. He became aware of himself. He was lying down with a thin blanket up to his waist. He was cold. His limbs felt heavy. “Hello?”

    He strained his ears but he heard nothing. There was something wrong. It was too quiet. The silence was overwhelming and he began to struggle within his body. His arms slid along the sheets sluggishly. “Help. Please!” Why was he calling for help? Something was wrong.

    Jesus what did they have him on? It was fading though. He burned through drugs within minutes once he was awake. He just had to wake up first. Wake up, Steve. Wake up. _Wake up._

    Why wasn’t anyone coming? Why didn’t he know what was happening? Something was wrong.

    “Bucky.” No, it’s not Bucky. Damn it, Steve. It’s not Bucky.

    Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake-

    “Help!” For a second, he thought the scream came from someone else, and he flinched in surprise. His voice sounded like nails. Nails on….

    Then the footsteps came. They were running, multiple pairs. He groaned for a second before cutting himself off. He was in pain but it was like observing it from somewhere in his head as if he were trapped in his body but not in control. “Help!” Why was he screaming? It seemed like the right thing to do.

    “Captain Rogers, you are safe. It’s okay, you’re with S.H.E.I.L.D. I’m Doctor Wong, okay. I need you to stay calm and breath and-” There were other people in the room. Someone to his left was doing something. He wasn’t sure what, though, and he didn’t know why he couldn’t tell. Should he be able to tell?

    There was something else, too. From where they came in. It was a man’s voice, then. The one he knew. It was saying, “What the hell did they do to him?! I’ll fucking murder all of them! Let me see him! Get the fuck off me! Steve! Steve can you-”. But something or someone else was holding him back. He could hear them struggle, the other one saying

    “You must leave him to rest, James. I beg you, the Captain will be okay. But right now, you must-”

    “Jesus, Thor, get him out of here!”

    “Steve what the fuck did they do to you! Steve! I want to see him. I want to see him! You can’t stop me from-”

    Something was wrong. He needed to wake up.

    But he was awake. “Bucky.” It came out as a whisper.

    “Steve!”

    “Thor!”

    Steve could feel his limbs again. He was getting up. He was moving, he was getting up. He was

    “Captain Rogers, you need to stay down, okay. Listen to me, okay, you need to stay-”

    Her hands were cold and small and they pressed down on his chest firmly. And he probably should listen to her, but then he was still shouting and he could tell that Thor was starting to overpower him and he just wanted to _see Bucky._ “Bucky. I want to see him. I want to see him, please.”

    “I know, I know, okay, just, okay-”

    “He wants to see me! Get the fuck off me!”

    “Okay. One moment then. But you have to stay down. Okay, Rogers. Do you understand me?”

    “Yes. I want to see him.”

    He heard them leave the room and the door sliding shut and there were a lot of shouting voices outside, but they were muffles and Steve couldn’t make any of them out. He started to get up again.

    “Wait, no. Please.” He froze. He’d forgotten about the other one in the room.

    Something was wrong.

    “What’s going on? What is happening?”

    “I’m not...authorized to, erm, to say anything.” Not authorized? What the hell? He was Captain America. What the hell? “God, I’m so sorry sir.”

    Was he crying? “For what? Just tell me what-”

    He couldn’t see. His eyes were open. He was sure of it. His hand flew to his face. There was a bandage? There was no bandage. There was no fucking bandage. He couldn’t see. He pressed against his eyelids. His eyes were there. He felt them open against his fingertips.

    _She took my eyes. Oh god, she took them! She took my eyes!_

    “-to me. Just focus on my....you’re doing so good, Stevie. You’re doing so good. Just in and.. _.Don’t you fucking touch him. I swear to god if you try and drug him up again I will snap your_...that’s it. Can you hear me? Just breath.”

    “Bucky.”

    “Steve? Steve, hey. Hey, Buddy.”

    “She took my eyes.”

    Steve’s head was on the nook of Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t respond for a long time, but he felt him shift underneath him.

    “I know, Steve. I know.”

   

The psych evaluation lasted for almost 3 hours. It took them 3 hours just to conclude that the results were inconclusive. Steve couldn’t remember anything except for that whoever did this to him might have been a woman, and he couldn’t even tell them why he thought that.

    In the end, they explained that he was on a mission with Tony, Natasha, and James. They had split up. Their mission was to search the abandoned Hydra base and find records that might lead them to their next target. Then Nat and James had reported Steve’s mic go dead. He’d been found unconscious with no injuries and no sign of struggle.

    He’d woken up twice. The first time he’d ran through the halls of the hospital and took out two guards before they got him restrained. But that was also when they noticed that he was...James had heard about it and refused to leave. The doctors settled on a compromise with James sitting down the hall. When Steve started calling for help, it was just by blind luck that Thor was there as well to hold James back from tearing up everything.

    The doctor tried to tell him about how a lot of blind people do amazing things and how nothing seemed physically wrong with his eyes so for all they know his vision might return if they found whoever did this to him. Steve asked them if they were done with the evaluation. They said yes. Steve asked them to please leave.

    He stayed in the hospital room for one more day for some last tests. Then they let him out.

    “This is your bed. And over here is the door to the bathroom. Then this is the toilet and to the side is the shower here.”

    “Which one is hot?”

    “The left one.”

    “Okay.”

    “So, what do you think? You aren’t gonna trip over something and die in here?”

    “I think that I’ll manage.”

    Natasha was quiet for a moment before announcing, “I’m smiling fondly.”

    Steve smiled. “I am smiling fondly back.”

    Nat chuckled and lead him out of the bathroom back into the small guest bedroom in her apartment. It only consisted of a bed and a dresser. Any other decorations went unnoticed. “Okay then. Are you tired? Or do you want the rest of the tour?”

    “I think I’m gonna rest my eyes, actually.” He grinned at the joke. She probably rolled her eyes. Or cringed.

    “Okay Rogers. See you in the morning. And holler if you need anything.”

    Steve nodded and didn’t comment on her use of the word _holler_. He stripped down, setting his clothes on the bed before feeling around for the bottom drawer where his sweats were. He didn’t feel like attempting to shower tonight, so he went ahead and slipped them on. Then he folded his clothes the best he could and put them in their respective drawers, all by touch. It was...a process.

    The room was a touch colder than he normally kept it. He snuggled under the blankets and closed his eyes. Briefly, he wondered if it was just because of habit, or if he would be able to fall asleep with his eyes open now. Or, whenever. However this long lasted. Or…

    Okay. He shut his eyes and got comfortable. And he wasn’t lying. He was tired. He felt his muscles relax in the soft sheets. Tony Stark knew how to pick some good sheets. Or at least, knew who to pay to buy some good sheets.

   

    The first thought Steve had when he started to regain consciousness was _we’ve got to stop meeting like this_ which really made no sense. He was already awake when he thought that. Had been for an indeterminate amount of time. _Not sure_ was Natasha’s answer when he asked later. Which probably meant a long time.

    Then he covered his mouth with his right hand. He made a small cup with it so that it created suction on his mouth, and when he attempted to pull in, he was unable. Good.

    Next. Where his eyes open? Yes. Wait….yes. His face was wet though, and that was weird, crying without the blurring effect of tears.

    He tried to pull in again and his hand wouldn’t let him. Until Nat pried it off with both hands. He started up again.

    _Buck. I’m so sorry, I need him. Please, I have to find him. Bucky. I need-_

    He put his hand over his mouth again. But then it was gone and he was saying “Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

    “Steve, I need you to calm down. Do you understand?”

    Steve blinked toward the noise. He could suddenly see her. The details were a bit blurry unless he concentrated on them, and there was no background. But her hair was bright red and her expression was...warped.

    Where had she come from? Except, no, he had already known she was there. He had to tell her not to get him. He had to tell her, somehow. He wished desperately that he could see.

    _She took my eyes. Oh god, she took them._

    “Nat.”

    “Steve! Yes, Steve, I’m here. It’s okay.”

    “I don’t want you to get him. Don’t get James. You can’t.”

    “It’s okay, Steve. I didn’t. You were just having a nightmare.”

    “He wouldn’t want-just don’t Nat.”

    “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not. Can I touch you, Steve?”

    “Yes. I need-” No. He wouldn’t have anything to say to you.

Nat rubbed his back as he tried to gain control of his breathing. He was alright. He knew where he was, who he was, and who James was. He had gone blind. But Nat was there. His leg was cramping underneath him and he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “What time is it?”

    “About 5:30.” Her hand rubbed soothing circles. He leaned into her.

    5:30. Time for a run.

    “Sorry.”

    “It’s fine. I was already up.”

    Something about that made him smile. It was probably true.

    “That was weird. That’s never happened to me. That badly.” An afterthought.

    “I read somewhere that blind people tend to have more nightmares, actually. It’s not uncommon.”

    “Thanks. That’s comforting.” Also, _more_ nightmares? If that was true, there was no way he was gonna get even a second of sleep for the rest of his….blind period.

    “Sorry. This isn’t exactly my forte.”

    “Good thing you volunteered to take care of the 90-year-old, newly blind man.”

    “Oh Steve, you aren’t just an old blind grinch. You’re my friend.” She brought her hand to the side of his head and brought it down to rest on her shoulder.

    “Oh. I hadn’t realized that I am a grinch as well.”

    “Yes, well, what can you do?”

    “Hmm.”

    He swallowed uncomfortably and resisted the urge to tell her again not to get Bucky. He could feel her presence next to him. She wasn’t going to get him. James. She wasn’t going to get James. Because Steve wasn’t his problem anymore. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t fair.

    “Do you want any breakfast?” She rubbed small circles in his back. His muscles refused to relax, though.

    “Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.”

    “Okay. I’ll whip up some eggs for us.”

    “Working on your suburban mom vocabulary lately?”

    “Actually, yes. I’m flattered that you noticed.”

    Steve smiled.”I’m smiling.”

    “I’m smiling back.” She kissed him on the cheek. It was unexpected. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. His face colored. Briefly, he wondered if she’d done that just to mess with him. And then he knew she didn’t and it made him want to cry again, only for a different reason. “Alright, get dressed old man. We have a busy day ahead.”

  

  Funny how things get way harder when you’re blind. For example: taking a shower.

    His entire body was tense from yet another grueling day. Of training? He wished. He couldn’t even handle running on a treadmill. It was difficult. One second, you are pounding along, imagining a nice park or a gently sloping hill, and then your foot doesn’t hit at the right moment, you stretch a little further and you get thrown off balance and endure an embarrassing wipeout in front of what he assumed to be only Natasha, but how could he be sure.

    He was fine, of course. He always was. But he didn’t feel much like running after that, and Nat had suggested they wash up for the day.

    “I invited James over, just to let you know.”

    Steve impressed himself by not falling flat on his face. She invited James over? Jesus, why? Several reasons filtered through his head: Because he had an unhealthy relationship with him. Because he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries out for a man who he hasn’t spoken more than a sentence or two to in the past several months. Because this was Natasha’s way of throwing him into the water and knowing that he’ll figure out how to swim, or he’ll drown.

    “Thursday’s are our movie night,” she said casually.

    And oh. That made sense. But for some reason, it made his chest tighten. They had a movie night? Nat had known Steve for years. She never told him. He didn’t even know they really talked much. It made him sick to his stomach when he realized that he was feeling jealous.

Over who? Bucky for making a friend in Natasha when it had taken Steve over a year to get her to go on a run with him?

Or Natasha? Natasha for getting along so easily with Bucky whom he could

hardly look in the eyes. For having such a casual thing as ‘movie night’ with his best friend from the 40’s who was the only person who readily understood him?

    He scratched the back of his neck, digging in forcefully with the recognition of his jealousy. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He didn’t have James. Not anymore. Not since the train. And he wasn’t sure he even had Natasha, even if they went to get coffee all the time or when he cooked for her in the quiet of his apartment.

    “Sounds fun. What are you guy’s watching?”

    The elevator dinged and he stepped in after he heard her do so as well. The doors slid shut behind him.

    “It is. Would you like to help us pick the movie?”

    And no, that’s not what Steve wanted at all. The idea of sitting in the same room with Buc-James, only a movie that he couldn’t even see for distraction? “Thanks, but I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just going to go to sleep.”

    “Come on, Steve. It’s hardly 7:00.” In a softer voice, “It’ll be fine. I promise. James is a good guy-” He resisted the urge to tell her he knew. “-and you haven’t been doing much. It’ll be refreshing.”

    “I’m sorry, Nat. I’m just tired is all.”

    “You can’t keep running, Steve.”

    The elevator dinged. “You’d be surprised. After the serum, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because I couldn’t keep going.” He brushed his fingertips over the buttons, counting up until he got to his own floor of the tower. He pressed the button.

    “You’re right. You only stopped because the medical professionals told you that if you kept going, you’d burst your heart.” Her voice was sharp and frustrated. Tired, maybe. Of Steve’s shit, probably. “Come on, Steve. You haven’t even eaten. You’re acting like a child.”

    The doors tried to close but then they stopped and widened again. “I’m blind, not stupid. I can find my way around my own apartment.” And that was so unlike him, but then Nat was setting away.

    “Fine,” she snapped.

    The doors slid shut.

    And it’s not like Steve hadn’t showered before since his eyes were taken. Only, the last time he’d seen his bathroom was a week or two ago, and he never really took note to where everything was. And now he was patting around, trying to find the handles because they were higher in Nat’s bathroom and Tony had to make everything so high tech all the time and

    He hated showering now. It was washing in the dark, and it was just more vulnerable than he felt comfortable with. It didn’t help that sometimes he got images that flashed in front of his sightless eyes. Things like a soldier bleeding, no legs, screaming. Or Tony, his leg badly broken and sweating and swearing. Or - and these were the worst- Bucky, standing before him, eyes drooping and torso wet and shirtless and looking at Steve like he looked at Jenny Li that night they went dancing.

    And then Steve would shut off the shower, which he did, and grab his towel and end the night, no matter what time it was. Which was what he tried to do. Only, he forgot a towel, and he also forgot that he wasn’t in Nat’s bathroom where there was a nice little mat to soak up water and he also forgot that there was a slight edge to his.

    On his way down, he briefly wondered what the nice little mat looked like and if he should get one for himself.

    Catching his body as it plummeted to the ground crossed his mind, but he was disoriented, distracted by his state of mind and his new disability. His head hit the tiles with a bounce.

    The pain was instant and intense. A splitting headache tore through his mind, and for a long moment, he couldn’t hear. He felt blood wet his cheek and he groaned quietly. Of course this would happen.

    He didn’t attempt to call for help, though. That would mean that Nat would give him that fucking look and take him back to her place quietly after he got all stitched up and not say the i-told-you-so’s that everyone knows he deserved. Anyway, JARVIS was disabled in certain rooms in his apartment, because a man could only take so much.

    He stayed on the wet tile for a while, waiting for the pain to subside before he got up. It wasn’t more than a minute. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, then threw it on the ground to mop up the water and blood as best he could.

    Getting to the bedroom was no problem, and he used another towel to stop the bleeding. He wondered if it was a lot of blood and the decided it didn’t matter. Out of all the things that had happened to him, a slip in the loo wasn’t going to put him in the grave.

    He snuggled down into his bed, not thinking about Bucky or his head or the mission he failed. Not thinking about anything. Just darkness. Just a full night’s sleep. Please. Please give him just one night of rest.

   

He could see him for a second. Maybe. The colors were strange. Too vibrant. The reds were too orange and the blacks were too blue. But he knew the lank black hair and cobalt eyes.

    It only lasted for a second thought, and then he was slammed back into darkness. He could smell the sweat on him, feel his clothes sticking to his body and his hair flat on his head. HIs lungs were screaming at him to stop the madness:

hyperventilating at first and then long stretches of suffocation.

    He almost wished he was unaware again. At least he never remembered those times. It was like it never happened. Only a feeling but little more.

    In the time before he was able to gain control, though, he remembered everything.

    He was aware of Bucky sitting with him, cupping the back of his neck tightly, too tight, making him feel claustrophobic, and calling his name in a whisper. Thank god Steve had his hand around his mouth again, unable to say anything. All that would’ve come out was _Bucky, please, I’m sorry. Please forgive me, please Bucky. I can’t without you. Please please please, I need-_

    He became aware of his rapid breathing. He held the next pull in, and then the room was silent. The rush of blood through his ears was no long deafening. Now it was just, “Easy Steven. Easy. Just breathe.” His voice was liquid but tense. Steve whimpered. “Beath.” It was a command. Steve forced his diaphragm to expand and sucked a choppy breath of air. It made him dizzy and he expelled it. “Again.”

    Steve squeezed his eyes. It’s like he was slowly waking up. His body was shaking. All his muscles were tense, bunched up together and exhausted. _Can’t_. “Breath, Steve.” He shook his head and plugged his nose with the hand that was already smothering his mouth.

    Bucky wasted no time in ripping it off. Steve sucked him heads of air, starving for it. His body shuddered, unable to get enough oxygen for a better part of an hour. He was crying as soon as his body could support the action. He was listening to James.

    “I don’t know, Nat. Jesus, you never told me he was like this!”

    “He asked for me not to tell you, James.” She sounded out of breath.

    “He was crying out for me. I-fuck!” Steve was pretty sure Bucky just threw his favorite lamp across the room and shattered it into a million pieces. He dug his nails into the base of his skull, trying to gain composure.

    “Calm down! It wasn’t my call! And it wasn’t your call either! He has a right to his own privacy.”

    “We’ve been idiots’ Nat.”

    “I’m fine.” God, his voice sounded like shit.

    “Like hell you are. Christ, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone less fine.”

    “I’m fine.”

    “That’s _bullshit_!”

    “James!”

    “Please stop yelling.” It came out slow, speech delayed by sleep exhaustion. He gingerly felt at the cut on his head. He stunk and needed a shower. And maybe for everyone to go away. He could feel his face burning in humiliation. He knew he was still in his own apartment. The way their voices bounced off the walls and the way his bed sunk under his weight. No, he was in his own bed. So then why-

    “James, you had no right to do this. You and him, it’s not-”

    “Oh don’t start up with me about-”

    “-the same as it was, and you know that. And the way-”

    “-what I have the right to do or not do. Did I also have the _right_ to be tortured and-”   

    “-You keep switching your attitude toward him. One second you are at his side, the next, you’re-

    Steve’s body decided he didn’t especially want to hear the rest of the conversation. His ears were suddenly filled with a sharp ringing over a too fast bass of his heartbeat. It was like this when Bucky shot him, and he fell into that river. When they had him a steady drip of those drugs. And his body was on full repair mode. And it was a gentle floating away on various wheelie beds and such. That was nice in a way.

    It was similar. But quite different. This was less nice. This was a head injury that made him also feel like he wanted to vomit everywhere and that the light was too bright. Except that wasn’t quite right either because, well, he was blind.

    A migraine, they told him. A mystery, because up to this point, he hadn’t had so much as a crick in the neck from sleeping wrong. His nose didn’t run and he didn’t get headaches. His body no longer supported those childish uncomforts. A migraine, then, was news. Maybe it had something to do with a strange woman who ripped the sight right out of his head, but Steve kept his mouth shut during the debriefing. He wasn’t a doctor. What the hell did he know?

    They performed some tests that he couldn’t see on him. They put him in a machine and looked into his skull. They send him back with Natasha. Again. Seemed dangerous not to. After all, that might be taken the wrong way, and few could afford an angry Nat.

    Steve smiled to himself in the silence of the elevator, and then maybe wondered if he’d actually had a little bit of brain damage. Because why else would be smirking to himself about the horribly awkward tension in a tightly enclosed space with Natasha whom he just let down in a terrible way. Who he’d just embarrassed. Called into question her ability to take adequate care of him. Natasha didn’t like her ability on _anything_ to be questioned, and certainly not something involving her friends.

    He could apologize. He probably should. But despite the golden boy persona that America had somehow build up for him, he was remarkably bad at apologies. It wasn’t that he was too proud. Maybe the opposite. Maybe because he thought that by admitting his mistake out loud, it illuminated his vulnerabilities. It makes him weak. And he was, but to have other people see him this way - to have Natasha see him like that- it was unbearable. Or maybe it was a different reason. All he knew is that he hadn’t apologized to James for the train yet, and standing in the quite next to one of his closest friends, his ‘sorry’ was getting caught in his throat. He hated himself for that.

    Nat was the first to break the silence, unusual for her. “How do you feel?”

    “Fine.” He cringed at the word choice. “Okay. A little parched, but can’t complain.”

    Natasha didn’t laugh, and he doubted she was smiling fondly.

    He cleared his throat. Blinked a couple time. “Sorry.”

    “For what?”

    There was a little ‘ding’ and the doors slid open. Nat stepped out, not bothering to help Steve or to make sure he followed. He did follow.

    “I, um, for slipping. For being dumb.”

    “Steve. Do you think I’m mad?”

    Everything about that screamed trick question. He wished he could see her face, but he doubted it would help much. Steve wiped sweaty hands on his pants and waited for her to unlocked her apartment. “Yes?”

    “Ah.” She shut the door behind them. Steve stood awkwardly. “Now I get why people think you’re dumb.”

    “Hey! That’s a sensitive subject,” he muttered.

    “I’m not mad at you for bleeding half your body’s blood supply on the bathroom floor and then not calling me. I’m not mad about you skipping movie night. I’m not mad at you.”

    “Just disappointed?” Steve finished hesitantly.

    “Worried, Steven.” The use of his full name made the hairs rise on his neck slightly. He was unsure why. “We are all worried for you.”

    “Oh.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “I talked to Sam about it. He said….he’s looking for her. The woman. A lot of people are. And we don’t even know if it’s permanent. I could wake up tomorrow and-”

    “Not because of your eyes.” Steve’s mouth snapped shut and he flinched harder than he’d like to admit, taking a half step back and stretching his fingers out for the door at his back. That was unfair of the both of them, to not let him know that James was in the room. Natasha put a hand on his bicep. “Because there are some very important things you failed to mention in your psych examinations.”

    Steve stepped away from Natasha. She didn’t put her hands on him again.

    His first instinct was to get defensive. To tell them that it wasn’t their business. The humiliation crept up his spine and he tried not to imagine how desperate he looked to them, crying out every night for a man who was dead. “It’s not that bad, normally.” His voice was quiet. A whisper. “Everyone has nightmares.”

    “ _Just_ _nightmares_?”

    “Yes,” Steve snapped back. “That’s all they are. So what if I wake up a little disoriented?”

    “God, Steve! If you weren’t- I swear I’d- you think that just-” Steve was brought back to a memory: Bucky swearing at Steve to take the extra blanket, tipping the number on Steve’s bed to 3 while Bucky only had 2.

   _“I’m closer to the heater, Buck. And you were out on the docks a lot longer than I was. Your fingers are frozen solid. Just take the fucking blanket.”_

_“Don’t suddenly act like that heater has done a lick of work since we’ve been here. You are being ridiculous. I can see you shivering from here, and I don’t really want to be kept up all night because you can’t stop chattering. It gets annoying!” Bucky shoved the blanket back onto Steve’s chest._

_“I’m not made of glass, you know! Stop treating me like I’m going to keel over and die any second!”_

_“How did I get stuck with the most stubborn, hard-ass, insolent piece of-_

    Steve forgot how it ended. It was a long time ago.

    Bucky was still stuttering over himself. Natasha helped him out. “Steve, those aren’t just nightmares. You are having recurring, full-blown panic attacks. Night after night. And you haven’t told anyone. That’s worrying.”

    “So you brought me to a little intervention.”

    “Jesus fuck, yes! You can’t keep going like that. No one can.” That reminded him of what Natasha said. “And how the hell am I supposed to take this?”

    Steve closed his eyes. “However you want. It’s not really much of your concern.”

    “Like hell it isn’t. You were….”

    “Calling out for _Bucky_.” It came out sharper than intended. He wasn’t crying.

    The room was silent for a long moment. Steve’s shoulders were so ridged it felt like a wooden board was between his shoulder blades. The implications of the statement were clear. James asked to be called James for a reason. He didn’t talk about the past they shared together for a reason. He was calling for Bucky, not the man who couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

    James was smart enough to get it. He was being stubborn when he snorted. “Exactly. My business too.”

    “It’s not your business unless I say it is.”

    “It is when I come to your room and find you crying out my name like you were-” Bucky cut himself off, but Steve heard his unspoken mockery anyway. Of Steve’s weakness. His guilt and his inability to deal with it like everyone else on the team did. His hands clenched by his sides.

    “James.” It was a warning from Natasha, the name coming out low and quick.

    Steve swallowed. He wasn’t sure when he became so weak. He used to fight every battle that came across his path with everything he had: his fists, his feet, his weak lungs and his creative swearing. Now, though, with this new power to fight, to cut with his words and to destroy with his bigger body, he was so hesitant to push back in fear of truly hurting.

    James had no such qualm about, though. Makes sense. They both changed so much, but instead of a new body, a quick rest in an iceberg and worldwide fame, James got years and years and years of torture, memory wipes, and killing. So much killing. As much as Steve held back now, Bucky pushed. Pushed at the weaknesses he was so good at picking out. Pushing at those with more authority and at those who reminded him too much of what he lacked. Like Steve.

    Steve opened his mouth to retort but ended up clenching his jaws shut. His chest tightened at the revelation of how James saw him: a sad, slobbering, broken man. A man obsessed with the past. Despite not being able to see them, he couldn’t help but turn his face away.

    Bucky cleared his throat, and Steve heard his feet scuff the floor. “I didn’t mean that.”

    “Oh.”

    “Steve, I… fuck.” The man pushed past Steve with no warning, fleeing the apartment. Nat called after him, but for a moment, all Steve was aware of was the point of contact, Bucky’s shoulder pressing hotly against his own, and one intake of his sent: the fresh mixture of detergent and shampoo. The thought of grabbing Bucky, twisting him into Steve’s chest, and from there…

    The thought escaped him, the connection point lost as James slipped through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Steve’s hand twitched at the sound, but other than that, he remained still, shaken by his mind that he was seemingly having less and less control over.

    “That went well,” Steve supplied.

    “Jesus, Steve, I’m-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you two like that,” Nat choked out.

    “It’s alright.”

    “God, I don’t know why I even-”

    She cut herself off as Steve’s hand found the door behind him, pressed his back up against it, and slid down. He was dizzy from the encounter, exhausted by his inability to read a situation anymore. Everything seemed to happen to quickly now that he couldn’t see a person’s face, their body language. It took him longer to process the tone and their words, analyze what they were really trying to say. And with Natasha and James, well, it was nearly impossible, even when he could see.

    Nat made a sound of pity and joined him on the floor, nuzzling her head into his neck. She wrapped her arms around his. The cuddling was so different from any other face Natasha normally puts on. It was vulnerable. Emotional. It reminded him of her kiss on the cheek, and he felt his face grow hot, and throat constrict. This friendship she gave him, that the team gave him, it was so much more than he deserved. It gave him a home, a family, and the thought that it might not be enough made him want to scream in denial. _It is enough. It had to be enough_. It had to because James wasn’t Bucky, and Steve wasn’t Stevie, and the stupid little fantasies were nothing. An echo of something from a past life.

    It was enough.

    “He doesn’t mean it, Steve.”

    Steve chuckled. “It sorta sounded like he did.”

    Natasha sighed. “It... is hard. To come back from something like that, it takes a lot of anger. It’s hard to remember who you’re really angry at. Sometimes, things get jumbled up in your head. Sometimes, it feels good to just be angry at the world.”

    “But not at Clint. Or Thursday movie nights.” He sounded bitter, and he twisted his fingers together.

    “Well...have you ever considered that once, you were his world?”

    Steve shook his head sadly. Bucky might have been his world, in the past, surrounded by bullies and an infinite amount of possibilities, and of course his best friend right by his side. But, “No, it was never like that with Bucky. He had so much going for him. He was smart and handsome, and he… I was holding him back a lot of the times. I got sick a lot, and we shared an apartment, and he took care of me often. But he always had a lot of other things going on. He was so involved, always moving, always…”

    “But he never left you behind.” It was gentle, not trying to prove anything; she was simply commenting.

    “No, he never did,” Steve choked out. He worked at the knot in his windpipe. It was true. Bucky was constantly bringing him on double dates, dragging him out to ice skate. Sitting with Steve in the heat while the smaller man drew, resting his head on the grass and talking about the future as Steve messed up again and again.

    “Give him time. As confusing things are you, things are twice as bad for him. He lost his entire sense of being to Hydra. He’s just trying to sort himself out.”

    “I know,” Steve whispered. The man had been through everything. Steve’s experiences were nothing compared to the shit Hydra pulled James through, and yet, here he was, still the one fucked in the head, getting comforted by a woman who was beaten and raped and lied to her whole life. Even with this new body, he was still in constant need of care. It was sickening.

    “Stop that,” Nat snapped, pulling away from him. She separated his hands from where they were squeezing so tightly that bones grind together.

    “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

    “ ‘s okay.” She linked his hands in hers. They were so much smaller than his own, and he held them carefully. “I love you. You know that, right?”

    If Steve’s face crumpled then, he couldn’t be held responsible.


	2. Daydreaming

    Another fucking headache. Despite the serum he received from the crack heads at Hydra, he wasn’t immune to everything like Steve was. It throbbed behind his left eye, and it would soon become a full-on migraine. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it, because he’d survived worse things than a little headache, but why bother if he could just find that damn scientist and ask him for some more of that tea.

    Bruce had given him some tea a couple weeks ago. The man was a meek creature, quiet for the most part except when spoken to. Logically, Bucky knew he was a threat. But he could tell that the man was so frightened of himself that it was unlikely there would ever be a situation in which Bucky would have to face up against him. And if he did, it would be over before it began, so no use getting his panties all up in a knot for nothing.

    And so he liked Bruce. He was a calming presence in Bucky’s world of chaos and uncertainty. He was wary of the assassin, and Bucky’s tendency to react strongly to a random assortment of things gave him reason enough, but he never held fear in those eyes. There was very little that he feared besides himself, and the complete lack of the emotion from both parties was a blessing. With Bruce, he was safe.

    With the others, it was more complicated. He was not scared of the rest, because he knew that if he had to, he could take out any single Avenger. But they were more unpredictable, and a thousand times more stubborn. With Banner, there were 2 outcomes. He would fight and destroy, or he would run, and Bucky did his research. 96 out of 100 times, Banner would run. Clint, Natasha, and Tony would stay to fight. And die. Which was an image that made his own stomach roll. They seemed less likely to accept. More likely to push back when Bucky acted out, and so he was more on edge with them. He was still learning their boundaries.

    But with Banner, he was willing to go to when he had a migraine and sick of doctors injecting him with a lifetime of drugs. The doctor had given him some herbal tea, something that Bucky internally scoffed at when he took it with a weak smile, but ultimately fixed his problems.

    It was a soothing blend of spices and leaves which were most definitely genetically modified, and Bucky had been drinking it nearly every night.

    Now he was out, though, and seeking out more of the remedy.

    He’d expected Banner to be in the Lab, a place he didn’t normally go to. It reminded him too much of the good ol’ days with Hydra. But damn it, the idea that Hydra still had any control over him, no matter how small, made his blood boil. So he went. Of course, by the time he forced himself into the white, sterile room, no one was there.

    He’d never been to Bruce’s floor before. Tony decided it would be a good idea to give the big green a little extra space, so Bruce ended up with the largest of any apartment in the tower, expanding over an entire floor. “No noisy neighbors.” Bruce made no comment.

    He didn’t quite know what to expect as he rode the elevator down. But it wasn’t a cracked door in the middle of an otherwise empty hallway. He’s expected at least some sort of paranoia, not this casual attitude towards any possible intruder.

    Bucky raised his knuckled to knock, but he hesitated. This couldn’t be right.

    For the most part, the rest of the team was out. Natasha, Clint, and Tony were on some mission. They didn’t ask him to come, and he didn’t offer. Only him, Steve, and the doctor were still here. Steve was blind, and Banner hadn’t been on a mission since Bucky had been there. He preferred to work in the lab for obvious reasons. Tony claimed the Stark tower was one of the most secure places in the world. Bucky thought it was an egotistical show of power with an expansive opportunity to be taken advantage of.

    At the very least, Bucky kept his damn door locked.

    He lowered his arm, and instead opted to push the door the rest of the way open, knees bent and metal arm out in front of him, ready to catch anything coming in his direction. Light on his toes, there was no noise besides a slight shuffle of clothing as he advanced into the room.

    Inside, there was a large living area. Its colors were muted and soft and sighed as the sunlight lit up the room, streaming out of large windows. Patterns of seemingly random assortment were all over the room, but it gave it a foreign feel, likely from all of the doctor's adventures. It was deeply personalized with paintings and tapestries hung from the wall. An odd line of masks clashed with the oil paintings, but they spoke of his travels, and they spoke of peace.

All the furniture was moved to the edge of the room, revealing several large woven mats. In the middle, sitting on a cushion, was Bruce Banner, his back turned toward the door, his legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.

And across from him was Steve Rogers. Bucky froze, all previous thoughts on an attack gone. He was in the same position, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Bucky found himself struck by the other man, able to observe freely. His features were sharper than his own, with a cut nose and high cheekbones. His hair was darker than it was when they were smaller, but still dirty blonde. It had grown longer, sweeping down softly into his eyes when he didn’t push it back. Mauve lips and dark eyebrows completed the picture.

The man was objectively handsome. He had a wide chest, large hands, a powerful gait. Bucky’s hand balled up into itself. He wasn’t sure why. Watching Rogers meditate made him feel… something.

His face was lax. There was no tension in his shoulders and no wrinkle on his forehead. It was a face that he’d yet to see on the soldier. Normally, he was so on guard. Bucky was smart enough to know it was because of him.

Memories came in waves, and sometimes they were a little fuzzy and easily disoriented with lies that Hydra fed him or his own warped imagination, but he knew that Steve used to smile more. Used to wear that grin, teeth flashing and the corners of his mouth curling up. He didn’t see it anymore.

But fuck him. Fuck his pitty act. Bucky couldn’t be _Bucky Barnes, little Stevie’s bestest good friend_. Bucky was James, or Barnes, or the fucking Winter Soldier. He wasn’t that man that Steve remembers and Bucky doesn’t because how can you be someone who has trouble remembering the street they lived on for 15 years, or the name of their own sister, or who the man you died for you even as he looked you in the face and told you their name?

So fuck Rogers for hanging onto the past that would never come back.

Only, he wasn’t.

Bucky released his twisting grip on the metal door handle, leaving it bent out of shape.

One look at Rogers and you could tell that the man was fighting almost as hard as Bucky. But while Buck tried to remember all the shapes and sounds and colors of his distant past, Steve was trying to forget.

To forget the things he used to love because he _knew_ better than anybody that the past could never come back. And while Bucky had his memory wiped a countless amount of times, Steve had traveled in time from one year to the next with only a light sleep to pass the decades by.

The man had never once pressed Bucky to be someone else. He’d been passive, letting Bucky control their interactions, giving him space and time to breath. It was crushing to watch, and Bucky didn’t know what to feel.

He scanned over the relaxed brow and slight curve of his lips and recalled the burning panic he felt in his lungs as he shook Steve out of the nightmare. It was old fear, he knew. But intense. Instinctual. Fear of losing something, watching it slip by as he grasped to the ends.

Steve opened his eyes. Bucky froze. So caught up in his own head, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring. Now, he looked across at foggy blue eyes and forgot for a moment that Steve couldn’t see him. Had no way to know he was there.

But Steve didn’t react. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face. He let out a sigh through his nose and closed his eyes again. “Bruce.” His voice was hoarse and weary. “I don’t think it’s gonna work today.”

The older man shifted, his head rising, and gave a silent nod. Before either of them noticed his presence, he slipped away, leaving the door cracked behind him. He couldn’t pinpoint the precise reason for his uneasiness, but he could guess it had something to do with Steve. Sometimes, his emotions reached his head before he was able to tell why he was feeling them. It was a frustrating tendency, but it also meant that he listened to his instincts more. It was usually his head, and not his gut, that got him into trouble.

 

The common room wasn’t something Bucky normally used. Anything that could be done here could also be done adequately in his own apartment. It was large, and when the whole team was here, there were lots of moving parts and lots of noise, neither things he was fond of.

He knew he used to like it, though. He could remember loud music that made the floor shake and his heart rattle, and the memory of the sweat and the yelling as he danced still made his blood race. But it was only a memory.

He avoided places like that now. It caused his training to flare up which was never a good thing. His hands twitched by his side, and instead of participating in conversation or activities, he found his mind racing about the room. Where were the exits, which ones were most opportune at which points of time? He sized up his enemies, the people who were the closest things he had to friends not 10 minutes ago. And they were threatening enemies, too. A god, a Red Room Widow, the _fucking hulk_ . It was exhausting, his head spinning and his neck so taut with tension he felt like he would snap. His mind felt as if it were splitting in two: the winter soldier's strangling surge to retreat, kill, destroy, to do _something_ , and then his own mind, struggling to shove the thoughts down, to still his fingers and block out the screams.

But that was when the team was there, a movie playing, a game being won and lost, and at least one person drunk, normally Tony. It was chaos.

Now, it was safe. The room had large couches and chairs, a small kitchen, and soft lighting. It was relaxing and open at it’s best and served as a suitable retreat when his own room was becoming too polluted with thoughts he’d rather avoid.

He couldn’t ever remember reading much back in Brookland. There never seemed to be a point to it. Yet, suddenly he found himself reaching for every book on the shelf, devouring it and then tearing into a fresh one before he’d even put down the first. Clint suggested it might be a form of escape. The world that the author creates allows Bucky to slip out of his own, which made little sense, and into a place where everything happened for a reason. Every detail was strategically placed in certain spots, all leading up to a grander thing.

A life in a book always had a meaning. Everything was a metaphor. The thought was comforting when there seemed to be not much of a point in anything in the real life. A person living or dying, a country rising and falling. Where was it all leading? What was the _point_?

It lead to an interesting discussion, and ultimately not one Bucky was quite ready for, and he ended up violently lashing out. He didn’t remember it so well, but he remembered their faces at the poisonous words he spat at them.

The next day, he’d apologized. They’d accepted him. It made him cry later.

Natasha had given him Lord of the Flies neatly wrapped in brown paper from the last mission she went to. Bucky wasn’t sure where it had taken her. She didn’t offer the information, and Bucky didn’t ask. But the gift meant a settling between them. A freedom from the tension between them and their past.

It was his third time reading it, but it was still crisp and white. Bucky kept it on a small shelf in his bedroom, along with Bruce’s tea and a small figurine from Steve. It was a black bear, rearing up on its hind legs, front paws stretched out. Its eyes were small black rocks. _Vibranium._

It sort of reminded Bucky of Steve himself as he cautiously entered the common room. Bucky stiffened at the intrusion to the previous stillness, but curiosity trumped his tension. For the third time in a row, Steve was completely oblivious to him. It was… unsettling.

When he fought the captain, he was surprised to find another equal to his own strength, speed, and skill. The man was the image of power. His muscles rippled beneath tight-fitting clothing and he threw his shield around with inhuman precision, able to calculate the angle and the force needed to bounce off several objects and return to his waiting hand in a heartbeat time.

But watching Steve, he realized that he would be able to kill him as easily as a child. He was unaware of his surroundings and helpless to stop any attack. Helpless, yet somehow still fucking charming in his helplessness.

He was large, but clumsy in his largeness as if he _still_ wasn’t quite used to his enhanced body. His clothes were rumpled and soft, and he traveled slowly, his right hand outstretched and gliding on the wall.

Bucky hesitated. There were a few crucial seconds that he would be able to call out to Rogers, letting him know that he was there with him, but for some reason, he stopped himself. He watched as Steve pulled open several cabinets, making his way through each shelf, trying to find something.

It was painstakingly slow. Bucky tried to go back to his reading, but every movement caught his attention. Every clink of glass cups and slamming of wooden doors. It was driving Bucky crazy and he found his hands gripping the book too tight.

“Need any help with that?” His try at casual ended up aggressive, as most things he said tended to do. Steve spun around, emitting a squawk of surprise. Bucky watched as a small mug with little kitten ears launched out of Steve’s hand, crashing into the tile walls and exploding in a thousand, pale pink shards. Bucky curled his lips in to keep from smiling. He shouldn't find that fact that Steve looked so shaken amusing, but it tickled something deep in his belly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you like that.”

“It’s fine. It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly. Rogers was slightly pale, right hand clenched by his side. He wondered if the other man was realizing what Bucky was just thinking: how exposed he truly was. He got up. “I can help you clean that up.”

Steve clenched his teeth, looking like he wanted to refuse. It was interesting, watching the man’s thoughts play out like a movie on his face. His eyebrows knit together, lips pursed, eyes unfocused. His fingers went limp. “Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks.”

“Eh, it was my fault anyway.” Bucky moved to the kitchen. Steve stayed close to the counter, pressing himself away from the assassin. He wondered if the man was even aware of all that he was portraying. Normally he was much more contained. Not necessarily harder to read, but he didn’t out himself like this. It was as if his lack of sight made him that much more oblivious to how he looked to anyone bothering to read him.

Steve gave a weak laugh as Bucky pulled a towel off its hanger and wiped all the ceramic into his cupped metal hand. “Almost gave me a damn heart attack.”

Bucky frowned to himself. Steve didn’t have heart problems anymore. It was a joke, but it pulled at other connections in his brain, as most things he said did. It made Bucky feel uneasy. “What were you looking for?” He dumped the shards into the trash and wiped his hands clean.

“Heh, well, I was going to try and make some tea. There’s this stuff Bruce gave me a while ago, and I normally drink it every morning. But...well, I haven’t been able to, um, so I wanted to.”

Bucky perked up at the mention of the tea. “I ran out myself a couple days ago. I can make it if you share some leaves with me.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up, his blue eyes focused on the sound coming from Bucky’s lips. “He’s got you on it too?” Steve grinned sheepishly. “It’s good stuff.”

Bucky hummed, watching Steve shift for a moment before seeming to remember the tea, pulling out a small baggy of leaves from his sweatpants. Bucky took it.

“Thank you.”

He made the drink quietly, putting the water on the burner and waiting for it to heat before packing the leaves into a small mesh ball and straining them. It was peaceful. Rogers loosened up beside him, relaxing in the small moment between them, and for once Bucky didn’t feel so antsy around him.

When the tea was done brewing, Bucky didn’t think twice about reaching across the narrow space, chest close to chest, to grab the honey. He probably wouldn’t have thought about it at all if Steve hadn’t taken a sharp breath at his proximity. Bucky froze. It wasn’t a sound of fear or surprise. It was something else, if only slightly off.

The captain’s hands were gripping the counter behind him so hard that the granite was crumbling slightly in areas where there was the most pressure. His knuckles were white and his forearms were tensed so that the veins popped out under his pale skin. His biceps flexed under short sleeves.

Bucky turned to look at his face. Blue eyes were clear and staring straight into his own. The contact was so sharp that it took his own breath away for a moment. Steve could see him. His body flushed hot at the thought. Steve’s own face was red. Neither of them dared to move. Bucky suddenly found it impossible to swallow, his heart beating strongly in his chest.

He hadn’t felt this way...in so long. They had been here before. His lower belly fluttered and he straightened out, unable to bear the intensity. It was unfamiliar to him, after years of mind-bending torture, the inability to withstand a feeling.

Steve’s eyes unfocused again, and immediately after they slipped closed. He left out a choppy breath while Bucky’s lungs still strained for air.

He was chasing a memory.

They were younger. Steve was smaller. It was hotter.

They were drunk.

Steve was drunk.

“ _Jesus, Steve, stop laughing so loud. You’re gonna wake up Mr.Nash. He’ll beat the shit outta both of us.”_

_Steve hung off him like a rubber man. It only made him laugh louder. Bucky felt a stab of annoyance, but the bubbling of laughter escaped him too. “Christ,” he cursed, and he fumbled with the keys as he tried to unlock the door._

_His worry about the neighbor was real._

_Somehow, Steve had managed to get himself completely and utterly wrecked. Bucky had been distracted, chatting up a real pretty dame. Steve was left to his own devices. That never seemed to be a good thing._

_Finally, he got the door open and pushed the smaller blonde into their shared apartment. Steve stumbled in with his usual lack of grace amplified by alcohol. He hit the floor slowly. Bucky rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him, closing themselves off from the rest of the world._

_Steve stuck his hand straight up, eyes directly in front of him. He was still having a hard time holding in the giggles. Bucky grabbed his hand and yanked him up from the floor._

_He didn’t bother with Steve’s shoes or his clothes. They didn’t work the next day. He would have time in the morning to straighten himself out. So he led them into their room and threw him onto his bed._

_“Buckyyyyy.”_

_“What?”_

_He giggled. “You’re drunk.”_

_“I’m drunk? You can’t even stand up straight, much less -”_

_“You’re druuuuunk. Bucky.” He pressed his face into the thin pillow. “Bucky, I’m drunk,” he whispered._

_“Goodnight Steve.”_

_“Wait!”_

_“What?”_

_“Lie with me?”_

_“What?”_

_Steve rolled over, exposing the other half of his bed. He reached out his hands, opening and closing his slender fingers like a baby reaching for a toy. He grinned, teeth flashing and lips curling at the sides. “Lie with me.”_

_Bucky rubbed his forehead. “I have my own bed,” he explained slowly._

_“I wanna cuddle,” Steve whined._

_“Christ,” Bucky swore again. He ripped off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor._

_“Wait! Wait, Buck!” Bucky spread his arms out and flopped on the center of the mattress, landing halfway on Steve and trapping him under his shoulder and arm. Steve pretended he was gasping for air, but found his joke too hilarious and had himself actually gasping for air, so Bucky pulled himself off and instead pressed his side against Steve’s, leaving his arm draped around Steve’s ribs._

_It’s an odd thing, become aware of yourself. Becoming aware of how his lungs constricted in his chest, how his lower belly stirred. How his cock thickened in interest to the man under him. Under him. How their thighs pressed tightly together and his body was too hot._

_Bucky pressed his own face into the mattress and took a breath. He felt the expected wave of disgust roll in from all sides, clouding his vision and strangling him, shattering his ears in their quiet space._

_He was a fucking perv. A fairy. A queer. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was going to vomit. He felt the bile rise to his throat. Everything was too hot. He was going to vomit._

Bucky felt no disgust now.

He found himself pressed closer to the man, previously unaware that he had moved at all. His breath fanned on Steve’s neck, and he could feel the tension radiating off the other man in waves. But he didn’t push bucky away.

Out of instinct, and slowly placed his hands on either side on the counter, trapping Steve between him. Steve let out another hard breath out of his nose.

Bucky felt the urge to touch, to _take_ , to make Steve let out those little pants and other sounds he remembered from a shared apartment. The memories came to him in a moment of inspiration.

He didn’t take. He only leaned closer, nose brushing along the underside of Steve’s jaw, taking in his smell.

It was thrilling to see how the blonde reacted to every one of his movements, and it made his cock twitch in his pants. He closed his eyes for a moment.

It had been a long time since he’d felt this.

Steve was hot and impossibly alive, submitting to the taking.

“Steven.”

A sharp intake.

“May I kiss you?”

“I’d rather you not.”

The rejection stung, waking him out of a trace like a kick to the gut. He pulled away instantly, retreating to the other side of the kitchen. He stumbled as if physically hurt. Fuck. What was he thinking?

It was as if he’d been taken over by someone else. But that wasn’t quite right, because he still felt the desire. The want. The itch to touch that perfect body.

Steve mumbled some excuse to leave, head ducked and neck and face flushed a dark red. But a clear outline of his cock pressed against his pants, and the sight nearly made Bucky groan, his hands twitching to reach out and take what he wanted.

He could’ve handled Steve like putty. Why had he even asked? He could’ve pushed harder.

But the thought made Bucky’s stomach twist sharply, and he pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket in frustration.

Steve made his escape.

It was dizzying. The sudden rush of emotions made Bucky want to lash out, because what the fuck just happened? HIs breath was coming out harshly now, a ragged sound in the empty room.

“Fuck!”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

The widow’s words came spitting back at him. _“You keep switching your attitude toward him. One second you are at his side, the next, you’re treating him like an outcast in his own home! You should know better than anyone how harmful that inconsistency is. How shitty you’re treating him. You aren’t the only one with their shit fucked up.”_

And now he’d just asked the man if he could kiss him?

And the other man has been able to see him. He was sure of that. Go after him. Bucky fought to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to punch something. Wanted to destroy something. Wanted to touch and grab.

The heavy pit in his gut that churned whenever Steve was around...it was connected to this. He knew the guilt of killing defenseless men, women, and children, but this was something else. It made him want to peel off his own skin. It was embarrassment in a mangled suit, and it made him want to vomit.

 

His mind couldn’t let it go.

Steve had been his last target. Bucky had spent weeks watching targets, knowing their closest friends, noticing their odd habits and tendencies and their preferences for one thing over the other. He was a master at observation. Hydra had made the mistake of thinking that the Captian could be taken out by brute force, though, so he knew very little compared to some of his previous assignments.

Before, he couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. It gave him headaches and made his gut twist. Now, he couldn’t seem to look away. It was an odd fascination. An obsession, really. A schoolgirl crush. It circled his mind constantly like a vulture high above the ground.

“I’ve caught myself….” He cleared his throat. “Staring. I don’t even notice when I do. I don’t….do that.”

Addie adjusted herself in her seat and frowned slightly. “Do what, exactly?”

Bucky struggled with the question. “I am in control of my own body,” He said as an explanation. That had been long drilled into his head. It had taken him longer than he’d like to admit to understand. The realization unlocked a world of anger, though. The fact that Hydra had taken away this _right_ that even children understood. It was a _natural_ thing that they’d ripped from his skull.

No more. He was always in control.

Addie smiled slowly in a way that always irked Bucky, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. “You don’t like being unaware of your own actions?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Well, if we are being honest, I think this is a sign of progress. People daydream all the time. It's not exactly dissociation. More like a fantasy in your head, or-”

“It’s not a _fantasy_ ,” he snarled, his muscles tensing in reaction to the suggestion.

“Okay, not a fantasy.” Addie stayed relaxed, watching his little tantrum play out. Bucky clawed at his emotions, trying to keep them in check. His breathing was ragged and ripping at his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“A lapse in control.”

“Maybe it is your body becoming more secure with your control. Maybe you are becoming more relaxed in your settings, and that lapse of control is okay. Needed, even.”

He gripped the arms of the chair hard enough for the wood underneath the cloth to splinter.  She was pushing him today. He would not fail this test. “I don’t want it,” he managed.

“Do you feel safe in the tower?”

“It’s _never_ safe!”

“James.”

They’d been over this. He was reverting into a dangerous headspace.

“Calm down, James.”

“I know.”

They stayed quiet for a while, the room thick with tension. Bucky flexed his fingers rhythmically, focusing on the stretch of the tendons to calm him down. His own reaction and the violence behind it caught him by surprise. It was physical discomfort along with a shredding of his mind. He focused on smoothing over a tear in the cushions. He pushed down the rough fabric creating a seamless lake of pattern before passing over and letting the bit release and spring back up.

“I feel safest in the tower.”

He was always on guard. He had been punished too many times to not be. Every safe spot had been so plagued with terrible surprises waiting for him that his own nest was hard to comprehend. But as far as the world went, he felt the most secure in the tower.

It was dumb, though. Even he could see that. There were cameras everywhere, spies and _heroes_ and JARVIS and New York. But it was also his couch and Clint and movie night. A place of little activity. Little change.

“That’s good.” He looked up to see her watching him closely with those two sharp eyes.

She looked soft. Her body was short in stature and curved in ways that Natasha was not, and her small hands had painted nails. It was a deceptive ruse. She gave him as much as he could take. A good match. He could take a lot, and she rarely dished out more. Probably why Sam recommended her.

“This lapse of control. Do you feel like it is a bad thing?”

He ground his teeth. It was a trick question. A trap, of sorts.

She liked to turn his words back on him. He did everything in his power not give her the satisfaction. A twisted game.

“How is a lapse of control ever a good thing?” He shot back.

“It can feel good. It can take all the pressure off for a moment.”

 _Feel good?_ Feel good like Bucky pressed up against Steve’s chest? Like the other man taking him in large hands and turning him slowly so that now Bucky was pressed up against the wall, crowding him a little and taking the lead and letting him do whatever he wanted to. Letting his eyes slip shut at the feeling of another body, no intent to harm, no thought of punishment or pain.

He clutched at the knees of his loose-fitting pants and doubled over, feeling nauseous. “No,” he gasped out. “I can’t control my own fucking head. I can’t- _fuck_!”

It was Steve, then, blind and gasping and struggling in his bed sheets, crying out his name in a strange, quiet, strangled sort of way. Bucky hadn’t known what to do then, conflicting instincts tearing through his body. Protect always won out.

He woke the other man up and it had become a thousand times worse. He clutched onto Bucky and called out for him at the same time. He was delirious and so so scared. Fearful and ashamed at his fear. It was a feeling that Bucky could relate to.

It made him angry and sick. Who had done this to him? He had to find someone. To kill them, make them suffer. He had to stop Stevie from crying because he couldn’t stand to look at those watery blue eyes stretched wide in search of something he’d never find.

He ripped at his pants in an attempt to pull him out of his flashback.

It hadn’t been this hard in so long. He’d been doing so well. Everyone told him so. _“Sometimes we have to take a step backward to take two steps forward,”_ Addie had explained to him once.

This was just one step backward. Just one. That’s all he’d allow for himself.

So he simply sat hunched over, chest heaving and nails digging into his thighs instead of laying waste to Addie’s office. Instead of taking a shotgun and blasting his fucking brains out to make it stop.

Their time was probably up by the time Bucky was done, but the woman had told him she didn’t really work with many other clients, so strict schedules didn’t apply to her. Turns out, it often came in handy.

She didn’t apologize for saying something that set him off. He didn’t apologize for going off. It would’ve been a waste of breath. A pointless formality, as she called it.

“It’s a red day today,” he mumbled. When she first explained the color system to him, he thought it was stupid. Now, not so much. A ‘red day’ encompassed so much more than simply saying a “bad day”. A red day was anger and lack of control. Orange was fear.

Yellow was apathy.

Green. Green was good. He’d been on a streak.

“Why are you panicking about this?”

Bucky felt a twinge of annoyance, a sure sign he was returning back to himself. “I thought that was supposed to be your job.”

“You’re a smart boy. Go ahead and give it a shot.”

Bucky glared up at her, still bent in half. “You’re feeling quite bold today. Will it take a full-blown panic attack to satisfy you for the day?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or maybe something else to shut you the fuck up.”

She frowned. The threat was no real threat. They had come too far together. Bucky knew he was telling her a lot simply because he _was_ threatening her. The trick was to figure out what he was telling her. “Red, or orange?”

He let his eyes close for a moment. Assessing. Emotions where hard. They made him sweat and curse and grin, but labeling them was something he still struggled with. Sometimes it just took a little prod to realize that what he thought was anger was in fact, pure terror.

He swallowed. “Maybe...maybe orange.”

“About Steve?”

Bucky blinks slowly. “Of course. Steve is pain.”

Addie sat back and blew out a long-held breath. “Let’s talk about that.”


	3. Headache

Steve could feel a headache approaching. Lately, he’d been getting those. It should’ve been worrying. He hadn’t had one in so long, and now he was getting them constantly. But being blind should’ve been worrying too. He only found apathy when he examined that new part of his life. The headaches were one and the same, so he didn’t bother telling anyone. He was spending far too much time in the medical ward anyway.

    He massaged the bridge of his nose between his eyes, his voice strained not to sound overly aggressive. “So you are telling me that I am a prisoner here now. Because I have a _disability_?”

    “No, I am saying you cannot take care of yourself outside of the tower alone. Do you know how many people would take advantage of the opportunity to take out Captain America as soon as they realize that you literally can’t see them coming?”

    “Oh. So it’s about power. Like it always is.”

    “Power? Rogers, I’m trying to stop you from getting yourself killed out there!”

    “No, it’s fine. Your precious little weapon is broken, and you don’t want to let anyone know. I get it. In fact, the longer I stay with S.H.I.E.L.D, the more I seem to get it.”

    “You are a figure of public defense now. You are a national icon. If the public sees you in this state, how do expect them to react? They learned about you in history class when they were growing up. You think that people will just accept that you can’t protect yourself, much less them?”

    “I think that I'm a human being. I think that I have rights. I think that I have just been blinded and now you think I’m just going to let myself be walked all over? Fuck that. Fuck you, Fury.” His neck was taught and he could feel his fingers curling in on themselves. “You wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”

    “Jesus, Rogers, you are a soldier. Stop whining and listen to what I am saying.” Something about that stung a little closer to home than he’d like to admit. “You want to wander the streets of New York as a newly blind man? Take the necessary precautions. Wear sunglasses. Keep a low profile. Bring someone with you. That’s what I’m asking for. I’m not keeping you prisoner, just demanding a little common sense.”

    Steve dug his knuckles into his temple. “Take who? Bruce? Somehow I can’t see that ending well.”

    “Natasha. Clint. Tony, for crying out loud.”

    “They’re gone.” But of course, Fury already knew that.

    “Well, then wait for them to come back.”

    His lungs constricted and his fury was back. “I’m going crazy in here. I haven’t been outside for a week and a half, and there are a limited amount of things I can actually do here now. As fun as it was learning how to navigate my bedroom, I need a change of pace. And if that doesn’t come soon, well, I really don’t know what I’m capable of.”

    But instead of backing down as any normal person would, Fury simply sighed in annoyance. He had dealt with Steve’s shit for a long time now, and even from the beginning, Fury had never fallen for his intimidation act. “Ask Barnes.”

    The suggestion was so unexpected that Steve’s brain halted for a comically long second. And when he comprehended the mockery for what it was, he turned his face away. He was furious at himself for letting Fury get to him, and he suddenly wished Natasha was here.

    And of course, in 3 seconds that lead him down a long road he’d traveled down many times before, and he couldn’t do it in front of the pirate. So he clenched his jaw for a moment, trying to rein back in the sickening wave of emotions.

    It was a low blow, even for Fury.

    “How about you go fuck yourself.”

    “Rogers-”

    If he could see where the screen was to punch it, he would’ve. Instead, he left.  He was remarkably good at quick exits for his condition. Maybe it was because lately, he was always fleeing from something.

    His chest felt like it was contracting and his head pounded. He fought to keep his breathing in check by focusing on the texture of the wall as he traced his fingers along it on the way to the elevator. It was smooth and cool and metallic.

    He felt like a child again, having to ask to leave the house. He hadn’t thought much of it when he’d planned on getting coffee down the road. He’d figured that he could make the walk there if he went slowly and kept the edges of the buildings. And if he overestimated his abilities, then he could turn right back around. Maybe even order one of those seeing-eye dogs.

    It was supposed to be a day of adventure.

    Instead, he’d gotten halfway to the main exit when a small hand on his bicep and a firm voice told him that he wasn’t authorized to leave. That he had to talk to Fury because there were special conditions that he now had to follow. Apparently, they’d been constructed several days after he’d returned from the mission, and everyone knew but him.

    Simply fucking classic.

    He missed Natasha. He missed Tony. He missed the outdoors and the people of New York and he missed _seeing_ and he missed Bucky. And wasn’t that a bitch to admit. And as much as he hated a pity party, he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He wanted to cry.

    He couldn’t. Wouldn’t? What was the difference?

    The elevator binged and he stepped in.

    He could break out. Somehow. Bruce would help him, but then, he would be putting Bruce in an awkward position. Not that the man was a stickler for rules, but that the pressure of trying to bust a blind man out of a militarized tower might not be especially wanted.

    He had to get out though. That much was becoming increasingly clear. They were keeping him in here against his will, and damn it, he was a man, not a weapon. They’d already been through this. His fingers brushed along the buttons, trying to decide which one to push.

    He couldn’t go back to his apartment. It was suffocating. The silence and the darkness were too much. So where? Not to Bruce. Obviously not to Bucky. And fuck Nick for saying that. Fuck him.

    There was only one way out: The two massive glass doors at the bottom floor of the building, surrounded by camera and people and security guards. He had always assumed that Tony had hired the guards. They were for his safety, not to keep him locked up. To trap him.

    He had to tell Tony. S.H.I.E.L.D was nothing if not poisonous, and a little sweep of the database to clear out all the hydra spies couldn't stop the beast. The fact that the organization was still up at all was a sign of its corruption.

    He fumbled for his phone and tried to remember how it worked. There was only one button. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his eyes. They had begun to sting.

    “Call Tony.”

    Then he pressed it up to his face. The dial rung for ages, and for a second he lost track of time. Only that there was a ringing, repeating, and a suffocating heat.

    Then

    “Steve, buddy, I love ya and miss ya, but -Fuck! - this is really not a great time right now.”

    “Tony, I know, I’m sorry. But you don’t understand. They won’t let me leave. They won’t-” He swallowed and tried to stop himself from sounding crazy. “Hydra, and Fury, Tony. They’de gotten into the tower.

    “Wait, what? Now? Jarvis would’ve notified me the second-”

    “No! No, not like that. Your guards. They won’t let me leave. Tony, Fury’s got me trapped. I’m-” He heaved for a breath. “I’m-I’m-I’m, I can’t. You need to help me bust out.”

    “Oh, Steve,” and the pity in his voice caught Steve by the throat. “I put those precautions up. I was scared you might walk out in your typical bull-headed way with no protection or sense of direction.”

    “What?”

    But Tony’s response was already lost. Steve laughed out loud and threw the phone as hard as he could across the room.

    Only, it wasn’t a room. It was an empty elevator. And there weren’t a thousand voices screaming at him and his ears weren’t ringing and he still hadn’t chosen a floor.

    _Get Bucky._

    Ah, the old mantra returns. His legs crumpled beneath him and he heard Jarvis call out his name.

    “Top floor. I want to go to the roof.”

    “Sir, are you sure? Your vitals are-”

    “Top fucking floor!”

    The box started to move. He rested his head against the cold metal walls.

    As soon as the doors opened he was outside, on his knees, puking his guts out. He was pretty sure this is what the flu felt like. Only, he couldn’t get the flu. Or headaches. And his vision was 20/20.

    Life was so funny sometimes.

    “Um...Steve?”

    He sat back, wiped his mouth and shivered in the late August air. He felt like laughing again. “Of course.”

    “Are you...alright?”

    “Peachy keen.”

    The nervousness made Steve twitchy. Barnes had shown him very little when he’d come back. It seemed to only be anger. Anger, or nothingness.

    Or...that other time.

    But this was new. Nervous. Uncertain. Old Bucky had a lot to be scared about, but almost no reason to be nervous around Steve. But then, Steve was hardly the small boy in the cornered in a dirty alley anymore. Maybe this version gave people a little bit more to deal with. A little bit less predictability.

    He heard the other man shift over to him. Steve sat back, all defenses down. He was exhausted and his limbs felt like jello. The fact that Barnes was interacting with him, and nervous at that, should’ve astounded him. Made him giddy and nervous himself. Perhaps throw him back into old memories, giving him an ache of nostalgia.

    Instead, the back of his hand, flesh hand, on his forehead, it felt chillingly natural. As if they hadn’t been separated for a century. As if they hadn’t been avoiding each other for months.

    Steve frowned at the thought. He hadn’t been avoiding James. He’d been exiled.

    The thought was fleeting. He rested his head on the door behind him.

    “You’re burnin up.” When Steve didn’t comment, “Why are you up here?”

    “I was thinking. There are 2 ways out of here, not one.”

    “Out of...where?”

    Steve’s lips stretched over his gums, flashing his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I guess that’s the real question, isn’t it. Not how to get out, but from where.”

    Bucky cleared his throat. “What...what are you talking about?”

    “Getting out of the tower. The door.” He huffed. “Or the roof.”

    “Oh.”

    “They can’t keep me here, Buck.”    _James. It’s James._

    The slip up didn’t go unnoticed. Bucky's hesitation was as loud as anything he could’ve said. Steve frowned at himself. Normally he was so good about it.

    “Damn, Steve. What’s got you so shaken up?”

    Steve unstuck his eyelids. To what effect, he was unsure. “Tony and Fury, working together? Unheard of. They wanted to keep me in the tower. I...I just wanted to get some fresh air. I just wanted some coffee.” He stopped when his voice got too ragged.

    “Oh. Yeah. The...um...yeah.”

    Steve blinked. “You…”

    “Yeah. They, um, they told everyone. But not you, I guess.”

    Steve groaned as the new information sent a sharp stab of pain behind his left eye. It was as if the stress of it all was tightening around his brain. “I thought I was human. They told me I was free.”

    “I want to tell you that you are free. But that’s a lie. Real freedom can only be achieved at the expense of others. You want to be free? Then go down and charge through the security and out onto the streets. In the process, cause everyone you loves you to drop everything to come to your rescue and pull you back from this nervous breakdown you’re having. Or, as you pointed out, there is a second option: jump off the fucking roof. You’ll be free then.”

    Steve’s nails dug into his palms. “Why are you even here?”

    “I like the roof. I was here before-”

    “Why are you here? Why are you suddenly _talking_ to me?” he spat.

    “Would you rather me leave?”

    _No. No, please don’t leave. Please, Bucky, I need_

    “Yes.”

    “God, Rogers, stop being so damn stubborn.”

    “ _Stop talking to me like you know me!_ ” he snarled. The pure aggression was so unwarranted that he froze, shocked at himself for a terrifying instant. He could only guess what James’ face was. Probably static as always. Steve had a pathetic amount of sway over the other man, even while he was driving Steve to the brink of insanity. “Sorry,” he whispered when James didn’t reply instantly.

    “”S okay.”

    He heard some shuffling and he felt Bucky’s arm pressed to his side, shoulder to shoulder like how they used to sit. Steve pulled his knees up and rested his head on them for a while. But then James was nestling his fingers through his wet hair, arm around him, and guiding his head onto his shoulder.

    The blonde shuddered involuntarily, the contact unexpected and shockingly gentle. He twisted his face into the brunette's neck and breathed in the unfamiliar scent. It used to be of home. It used to be of strong coffee and cigarettes and the ocean. Now it was a mix of unidentifiable others. The many parts of James’ life that Steve had no part of.

    It was sad but still managed to be comforting. He could feel the power under his cheek even if he couldn’t see the muscles.

    How long they stayed there, Steve wasn’t sure. As long as it took for his heart to stop pumping so unnaturally fast. For him to stop sweating so much and finally become conscious of the chill in his bones. He might’ve fallen asleep at one point, but a shift woke him back up, shivering in his enhanced body. The heat coming off James’ hand was so warm compared to everything else, and he found himself focusing on it like a starving man on the smell of food.

    James’ phone rang twice. The first time he let it ‘buzz buzz buzz’ until it went quiet, and the second time he chucked it off the roof.

    And those were the only two interruptions of the small paradise until James’ finally sat up straight. “You’re shaking, Steve.” He sounded weary. Tired. “I want to….will you let he help?” Nervous.

    “Okay.”

    He got to his feet, pulled up by a hand, and they rode the elevator down, an arm around broad shoulders. His head felt foggy, and without his vision, making his way to his room might have ended in disaster if it weren’t for James.

    His hands were shaking too badly to get the key in the hole, so he let the brunette do it for him. He could've been embarrassed, but then again, it was nothing Bucky hadn’t seen before. The only difference was the new body. A shiny new model for the same deficient engine.

    When they stepped inside, Steve started to make a beeline for his bedroom, in tune enough with his surroundings to navigate on his own. Before he could throw himself onto the bed, though, Barnes was there to grab him by the elbow.

    “Shower first.” His voice was remarkably not Bucky. It was different, somehow. But then, James wasn’t quite the same Bucky as Steve knew way back when. That’s what everyone else told him. That’s what he assumed in the silence.

    “I wanna sleep,” he mumbled distantly aware of how casual he was being. How whiney was a side he showed only a very very select few. Really, just Natasha and Tony. He was tired, though, and James had had his arm around his shoulder.

    “Shower.” The response was tight. Steve sighed and felt his way over to the bathroom.

    He wished he could see James’ face, deciding if he should help Steve take a shower or not. The thought made him smile a little bit, but only to himself. He saved Barnes the anxiety by shutting the door behind him.

    Afterward, he was glad that the other man had insisted. There was a surprising amount of grime on him, and he felt tingly all over after the hot rinse. He cracked open the door, towel firmly around his waist. “James?”

    “Yeah.” The voice was right by his side. Steve should have started. Instead, he turned to face the voice. “Made it out alive this time.”

    “What?”

    “The shower. It went better than last time,” he nudged, grinning slightly.

    “Oh,” Bucky breathed.

    Steve ran a hair through his wet hair, suddenly aware of his nakedness. Aware of James so close to him. It made his heart rate spike for a second. The man had always been attractive. Made it hard to focus on anything else except for a strong chin, steel blue eyes under thick eyebrows, and those large hands and wide chest. Even now Barnes filled commanded a presence in the room. Sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Steve was overheating anyway, and he turned his face so Bucky couldn’t see the full flush quite so clearly blooming on his cheeks.

    It wasn’t this bad before. He could love a man without constantly wanting to jump his bones.

    The self-disgust might have helped keep those thoughts down a little.

    But now, self-acceptance was all the rage. He wasn’t quite so good at it sometimes, but he was working on it. The type of work that looked like crying in his bedroom, doors locked, a picture of a man then lost crumpled in his hand. Looked like awkwardly telling Natasha and Sam and no one else, and taking their acceptance with a nod and a rolling stomach and sweaty palms.

    The man came back, though. And didn’t that put Steve through another extravaganza of emotions that he never thought he’d have to go through.

    If Steve was twitchy around Bucky, well then, he had a long list of reasons of why.

    He was thrown back to a couple days ago, Bucky almost pressed up on him from toe to chin, his nose bumping along his adam’s apple. It had turned Steve’s legs to mush and sent his head spiraling.

    Maybe it was the way he could hear Bucky’s breathing pattern change ever so slightly or just that they were alone in his bedroom, Steve practically naked. He’d barely managed to refuse last time.

    “You feel it too, then.”

    “No.”

    “I can see it written all over your body.”

    Steve’s breath caught. Bucky was looking at him. Reading him and his arousal. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t fair. The deep growl of Bucky’s voice gave him gooseflesh. He was compromised, already weak.

    But he still felt his body react in ways he tried desperately to stop.

    “Buck, we can’t-”

    He cut himself off with a gasp and a flinch and Bucky put his hands on Steve’s ribs, no warning whatsoever. Every move that he made was unpredictable. Steve couldn’t see him moving until his hands were already on him.

    And his hands were as large and calloused as he remembered, his thumb rubbing soft circles into his bones. He clutched onto his towel with one hand and Bucky’s forearm with the other. It was laced with hard muscle.

    Bucky made a sound of approval deep in his chest. It was almost animalistic, and Steve felt his eyes flutter for a moment.

    He was hyper-aware of how helpless he was. If Bucky really wanted him….

    The thought took his breath away. It was never something he’d ever thought about before. He was always the one who took. Always the one who leads.

    And now Bucky was here, his hands resting easily on his torso and he’d managed to steal the very breath out of his lungs.

    “You like this,” he murmured, close again. His hot breath on Steve’s neck, and then Steve’s eyes did slip close. He swallowed, trying to voice something. A protest. He didn’t like this. He wasn’t like this. This had never been his kink.

    It was a little sick to think that Captain America liked to be tossed around. _Held down._ Fuck.

    “You didn’t use to like this,” he wondered, still in that low, soft voice, still pressed against his throat. He slipped his hands down Steve’s body, feeling his waist and down to the towel. Steve was already hard. He tried to step away but ended up hitting the hall behind him.

   Of fucking course.

    Bucky followed, keeping the arm that Steve held in a vise grip still and feeling the other one up to his pec. He was closer now, crowding his space. He made Steve feel _small_.

    “How would you know what I used to like?” His voice was hoarse and he couldn’t stop his hips from twitching up as a cold metal digit brushed close to his nipple.

    Bucky hummed and finally opened his mouth to Steve’s skin, just barely testing the flavor. He gave a small kiss under his jawbone, the blonde letting out a small “Fuck.”

    “Give me some credit, doll. If I ever pushed you around like this, you would’ve killed me.” He chuckled darkly and nipped the tender skin. “I sure thought about it though. Wanted to make you mine.”

    Steve's fingers clenched so tightly that he was sure he would break anyone else’s arm. Bucky was strong though. Strong enough to keep him in place.

    Bucky thumb stretched out again, this time finding his nipple and gliding over it, sending a jolt of heat to steve’s lower stomach. He toyed with the bud, moving his mouth to Steve’s ear where he could hear hot pants of air. His tongue found Steve’s earlobe and he took it between his teeth for a moment. Steve’s body lit up.

    “You’re so tense.”

    It was a joke. Steve wished desperately that he could see. This was all happening so quickly. He’d had more interactions with Buck in the past month than he’d had in the other 7 since Bucky came back all together, and he couldn’t even see to appreciate them.

    He should’ve stopped to ask why. But Bucky was overwhelming him and he was just hardly hanging on, somewhere between uncontrollable arousal and panic. Trying to control both was taking up most of his mental capacity at the moment.

    He realized he hadn’t said anything as Bucky paused for a heartbeat. All that he managed to say was a soft, “Buck.”

    It came out airy, and at the sound, Bucky sighed and peppered kisses down his neck and collarbone. His human hand stayed gripped on his hip and Steve flushed to think about how obvious his erection was, only a towel in the way form him being completely exposed.

    “Oh Stevie,” he mumbled. The metal hand palmed at Steve’s chest, feeling his wild heartbeat and the firm muscle there. All Steve could do was stand there and take it.

    It had been so long since someone had touched him like this. His insecurities about his body didn’t just disappear after the serum. In fact, they might have gotten worse. Everything about his appearance had been scrutinized. He was constantly getting messages from people he didn’t know and stopped in the street. They either hated him or liked him too much.

    Not to say that his sex drive was by any means low. He desperately craved and wanted and tried not to stare.

    And now Bucky was here, pressing himself against Steve.

    And now Bucky was here, kissing him on his lips.

    Steve couldn’t help but turn away, so sharply it was if he’d been burned. Bucky was instantly gone. His hands left hot prints in his skin.

    A weak “sorry,” was all he was able to come up with.

    “Don’t.”

    “Buck-”

    “I have to go-”

    And wasn’t that idea terrible? Steve’s chest seized. The headache was already returning. “No! Please, don’t leave.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know how much more he could take of this.

    “I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice was monotone, and Steve felt pathetic tears fill his useless eyes. His lungs constricted, and all thoughts of sex flew out the window. How was he supposed to respond to that?

    _Tell him._

    Steve opened his mouth but closed it again. “I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t apologize!” Steve’s entire body flinched at the tone.

    He didn’t know what he did wrong. He pulled away from the kiss. But wasn’t it obvious that he wanted Bucky? Wasn’t it obvious?

    He was screwing this up. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was all wrong, all because of him.

    “Fuck!” The only sign of him leaving was the door slamming behind him.

    _Run_.

    Steve braced himself on the wall, dizzy and sick and feverish again. That voice. _Fight_ , it always told him. _Win, shout, stand up!_ But now, it said _run. You need to get out of this place. This is wrong_. A fear he’d never felt before was in his bones, now. It screamed at him and made him crazy, and he tried to focus. But his heart was beating too fast and it told him to do anything to escape. This was too much. This is all wrong!

    He dropped his towel and got dressed with shaky hands. The task was easier now after many mornings of practice. 3 layers and he was done. He put on his cap and his sunglasses and his civilian clothes.

_Find me._

    He went to the elevator, this time punching floor 1.

    They wouldn’t see him if they weren’t looking for him. That’s how it normally works. In his regular clothes, he was invisible. Just walk straight. Keep the edges, head low but not too low. Eyes straight ahead, fingers trailing the wall. The main floor was so busy, no one would notice. No one ever noticed him unless they needed something from him anyway.

    It was a short ride down, and yet, when he reached the first floor, everything was far away. His heart was kicked up into that unnatural pace again, and he was hardly breathing as it let out a soft bing and the doors glided open.

    Of course, there was no way it would’ve worked. Looking back on it, he cringed at the state of mind he was in. Sweating and paranoid and trying to flee his life with no plan whatsoever. He would've been hit by a car 5 seconds after he got out of the building. It was lucky that someone noticed him, called out his title.

    “Captain?”

    Steve ignored them. Keep your head low. Eyes forward.

    “Captain Rogers!”

    A hand on his bicep. Small. Firm. Familiar.

    Steve swung his elbow around and into the face of the small security guard he’d known for over a year. She went down easily with the crunch of her nose breaking. Steve busted out into a run, vaguely aware of the location of the door. He didn’t get far.

    There were instantly 3 other pairs of hands on him. He wrestled out of them easily, lashing out blindly and viciously. He made contact a number of times, hitting with too much power. His restraint was gone with the incoming adrenaline.

    He wasn’t about to die here.

    He wasn’t sure how much time passed before they were able to get him in those heavy metal cuffs. They had him pinned onto the ground, face shoved into the tile floor that was slick with the iron smell of blood. He gagged as it seeped into his clothes. It might’ve been from him, but most likely not.

    Someone had shot his thigh, though, and his body was spasming from the shock of a taser.  Maybe it was him. He could feel the tearing of the ligaments and he screamed through a frothy mouth.

    They everything went black, shutting down as quickly as it began.

   

It was starting over. This hellish month was just beginning again. When will it end?

    The sensations returning was the same. He could feel cool cotton over and under his weak limbs. He could hear voices. They were far away though. He struggled to get up, but something was holding him down.

    Gravity.

    His head felt weightless though. He couldn’t hold down a thought. It was only the fear that lingered.

    “It’ll never end.”

    A hand wiped the wetness from his cheeks.

  

  This time, waking up was easier. It wasn’t a panic he didn’t realize he had. Instead, it was just sticky. Time crawled along and Steve took his time waking up, not bothering to crack open his eyes but stretching his limbs out and sighing.

    The room was cool, but he felt the heat of an afternoon sun warming him through the sheets. The linens were smooth and he brushed his fingers over them, enjoying the sensations.

    There was no sound in his room. No breathing of other drafted soldiers or a little beep beep beep of a heart monitor or the loud clanging of an air conditioner that didn’t work or his mother cooking down the hall. The only noise was the quiet filter or air through the vents. He wiggled his toes, brushing them against each other, and he was lost in the feeling for a while.

    Eventually, his eyes opened on their own. He wasn’t tired anymore. They stuck a little though, so he picked the crust out of his eye and rolled it between his fingers before flicking it away. He brushed the bridge of his nose.

    How was it that some blind people could see a face through touch. He didn’t think he’d be able to do that. He smiled to himself, a laugh coming out as a huff of breath through his nose, and he felt at his lips, ankles rotating at the sensation.

    He remained blissed out for what seemed to be hours. Sensations were confusing and new, and everything was quiet.

    “Steve?”

    Steve smiled at the sound of Tony’s voice as the man entered his space.

    “Hey Tony,” he mumbled, snuggling down into his sheets.

    “Hey. How are you feeling buddy?”

    “Good.”

    “Yeah. Yeah, the guys in the lab have been cooking up some nice stuff for you. Looks like you’re enjoying yourself there.”

    Something in the tone of his voice made Steve’s head stir a little. He was missing something, and he suddenly found that his head was muddled up, slow and distracted. He sat up a little straighter.

    “Is good. Not too hungry now.”

    Tony sighed a little. “Ah, yeah. Guess now isn’t a great time to talk.” He heard the other man get up and Steve felt a sudden spike of dread at the thought of Tony leaving. Something was happening and he wasn’t able to comprehend. He shook his head, willing his mind to clear.

    “Wait!” He cringed as his voice sounded too loud for the small room. “Hold on.”

    To Tony’s credit, he didn’t crack a joke or say something overly insensitive. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. Just waited as Steve took deep breaths, trying to get his blood flowing again. “Water.” His mouth was a desert, tongue sticking to the roof on his mouth.

    Tony reached over him to a bedside table where a pitcher r water and a glass waited. Steve struggled to sit up as Tony poured him some, and he was brought back to before the serum.

    After his thirst was quenched, he let out a long breath, resting his head back against the wall.

    “You’ve kept busy while we were gone, I see,” Tony quipped.

    “Busy, or insanely bored?”

    “Insane. Nice choice of words. A perfect segway into our next topic: your nervous breakdown. Seemed fun. Wish I could’ve been here to partake.”

    “It was alright. Nothing to call home about.” Steve blinked a couple times, really squeezing his eyes closed before opening them wide. “Still blind,” he announced.

    Tony cleared his throat awkwardly, and Steve frowned, realizing that Tony was uncomfortable. “I just wanted to...apologize for the, erm, protocol that I set up. SHould’ve told you. Or just, you know, not done it. I didn’t really realize how that might’ve set you off. Or, not set you off, but, you know, it was a dick move. Don’t know what I was thinking. Well, actually, I was thinking that you might follow the rules that I had set out for you, which was literally just not to walk into the big wide world blind and alone, but obviously, I fell into the innocent Cap trap.”

    “Cap trap?” Steve was trying his best to follow the apology, but sometimes Tony ended up talking more to himself than to Steve, and then he ended up getting a little off track anyway. Not to mention the apparent horse tranqs coursing through his veins.

    “Innocent Cap trap. You have somehow managed to build this golden boy image of yourself: sweet to old lady’s, always following the rules, eating your veggies before dessert. It’s all bullshit, and if you forget for one second, then wham! You get struck with the, um, nervous breakdown.”

    “I do like old ladies though. They are kick ass.”

    “Fuck, Steve.” The bed shifted to support Tony’s weight as he sat down next to Steve. He gave a labored sigh.

    “I want to go outside again. Without pretending I can see or trying to hide.”

    “I know. We are working on it.”

    “How?”

    “Steve, you are the image of security. You are a hero. You saved New York, and the rest of the world, from aliens. And a god. Aliens.”

    “I didn’t do it alone! I have a team of heroes right behind me.”

    “You lead us, Steve. And that’s what the people see. And the fact that you are as helpless as a newborn babe-”

    “Hey!”

    “-will scare people to death. Not to mention all the idiots who think that anarchy will rise up again. And also not to mention all the other dangers that hide. All the other dangers that are simply waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

    “Jesus. WHo are you and what did you do with Tony?”

    “It’s called me being worried, you idiot. Worried, and optimistic that we will find whoever did this to you, and somehow change it back. We are looking. There might not even be need to cause mass panic among the commons.”

    Steve ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long. _I’m a person. I’m just a person._ “So...I just wait here? Just wait until I go crazy again, hurt someone again?”

    “No. Of course not. It’s just...well, there was one thing that Clint suggested. And for all his idiocy, it wasn’t a half bad idea. Of course, I shut it down immediately simply because it was Clint and I didn’t think of it first-”

    “Tony. What is it?”

    “There’s a small hideout. In Idaho or Montana or someplace terrible like that. It’s not a hideout-hideout. More like a….relocation, I guess? It’s a little house in a small town, yadda yadda yadda, you know the drill. Anyway, that whole baseball cap and hoodie thing really seems to do the trick for you are far as you slip right under everyone’s nose. Maybe….it would be good for you to get out of New York for a while. Away from the pa-pa-pa-paparazzi.”

    Steve thumbed the sheets. Away from New York. Away from...he swallowed. It would be like a vacation. A vacation away from everyone he loved. Away from all the politics and the cameras and the fucking tower. Away from Nat.

    Away from Bucky.

    “That sounds nice,” he croaked.

    “You strike me as the nature type. I think you’ll like it.”

    “I grew up in Brooklyn.”

    “Damn it. See, the classic Cap Trap. I don’t know why I thought you would like nature. I just assumed. American dream and all that.”

    He smiled a little bit. “I do like nature though.”   

    Tony groaned and got up. “Sounds like a plan, Stan. Of course, you can’t go alone. What with you being blind as a fucking bat and all. Actually, blinder than a fucking bat, because, you know, the echolocation thing and all.”

    “I’m good? Just like that?”

    “Yep. Not much prep work on this mission. Just send you on your merry way with a fake and a credit card. Don’t go too crazy, though. None of that tragically heroic Steven Rogers shit you somehow always manage to pull.”

    “And, um, what about the guards?”

    “Oh. Do you think you need them? I thought that was-”

    “No. The, um-” Steve ground his teeth, frustrated at how hard it was to say. The memory of breaking bones under his first was still so vivid in his mind, it was like he was reliving it. “The security guards that I attacked. From the Tower.”

    “Oh.” Tony blew out a breath. “They are all fine. That’s their job, after all.”

    “To protect people. Not to get attacked by one of their own men.”

    “Steve. It’s okay. None of them blame you. They will all be perfectly peachy in a couple weeks.”

    “And what about Nina? I...I hit her pretty hard.” Steve found his hand clenching the fabric, and he forced himself to relax it. He forgot, sometimes, that even though he couldn’t see anything, that everyone else could see him, and read his reactions.

    “Steve. She’s okay.”

    “How much damage?”

    “Steve-”

    “How much?”

    “What good would it do you to know? Even the slightest scratch on her would make you feel terrible. There is no use, Steve. Take my word for it: they are okay and they don’t blame you. You’re going through some shit.”

    “So is everybody else. I don’t see you plowing through innocents.”   

    “And I don’t see you drinking your nights away, neglecting your beautiful wife, destroying your body and not being able to shut the fuck up for once. Because that’s me, and I know my flaws, and how much I can handle and what I can’t. And maybe you should try accepting them yourself a little more.”

    Steve dug his teeth into his bottom lip in frustration. He didn’t want to accept his flaws. He wanted to fix them. He wanted to fix his head and his emotions and the fucking time gap.

    He wanted to make Tony tell him what happened to Nina, the security guard who he’d hit so savagely. The woman who he’d know since he woke up. Her strong chin and her broad shoulders, perfectly capable of handling her own and yet treating him with gentleness. Her grip was so soft on his arm. He’d come from nowhere, and she didn’t even have a chance to flinch.

    If Tony had so many flaws, then why wasn’t he the one who had to be shipped away for a ‘mental health break’?

    And why was he so bitter?

    It left a bad feeling in his mouth. It was guilt he was feeling, not anger. Tony was just trying to steer him right. Everyone was. They loved him. They were his family.

    “So who's stuck with me?”

   

 

He’d broken her nose, dislocated her jaw, broke her wrist from his grip and gave her a concussion. He tried to see her, but he couldn’t find her.

    Or, he couldn’t make it happen.

    Or, he didn’t have time.

    Or, the thought of going to her made him want to vomit, and they were leaving now anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

    Steve tried to make himself stick to a routine. Tony suggested it. Well, said his therapist suggested it one time, but he was a busy guy with lots of plans, and those plans didn’t follow a routine and then a rant followed.

    Steve tried to stick to a routine, though.

    He was learning how to cook for himself. With the help of Bruce, of course. But there was a small convenience store a half mile down the road, and he could walk there with Pablo and grab ingredients every day. Gave him a little socialization with people who didn’t know his past or even his real name. Killed some time. Especially when Andi was there.

    A teenager, he’d gathered, working for her mom’s store over the summer. She was about to start college at the local community school, and she wanted to be a vet technician. He wasn’t sure what that meant. She filled him in with all the details he could’ve ever dreamed to know.

    Steve wasn’t quite sure if he really even liked Andi or not, but she was kind, and that can take someone a long way. Kind, and chatty and sometimes a little bit too nosy for his taste.

    “So how did you become blind? Or were you always like that? Cause I have never met a blind person before. I thought you all used those stick things to like, tap around with. But I guess you have Picasso, so really you don’t even need one.”

    “Pablo,” Steve corrected. He was leaning on the counter, trying to listen to the radio. A song he liked was on, but by the time he got back to Bruce, he could never remember the lyrics. This time he was set on finding out who it was by.

    “Oh, shoot, yeah. Pablo. I knew it was a painter. Or, actually, when I think of Pablo, I think of Pablo Escobar. You ever seen that movie about him?”

    “Can’t say that I have.”

    “Hm, well. You should. Oh wait, you can’t even watch movies, can you? Unless, do you just listen to them?”

    “No, I don’t watch them.”

    “Were you born blind, though? Have you _never_ seen a movie?”

    “No, I’ve seen them.” He reached down and stroked Pablo’s soft ears. The dog stayed still by his side.

    “Oh, so you weren’t born blind. That’s what I thought. What happened?” Her voice echoed down the aisle as she loaded up a basket or items that Bruce had written down. Tonight they make ravioli.

    “I met a witch.”

Andi didn’t respond for a moment. “Was that a joke?”

Steve shrugged. “It is if you want it to be.”

She laughed a surprised giggle, and Steve found himself smiling despite himself. “So the new guy has jokes. I mean, they aren’t very funny, gonna be honest. But what can you expect from a guy as pretty as you?”

“Not much. I’m very pretty.”

She snorted and shuffled around him, bagging up the food. “You need any help hauling these back to your place?” She offered every time. He always said no, and then she went ahead and offered again the next day. She was like Natasha in that way. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stand to shoo her away despite her tendency to make him grind his teeth.

“I’m alright.” He reaches for the bags and she hangs them off his arms.

“You sure? Some of these are pretty heavy.”

“I think I’ll manage. Thanks, Andi.”

“No problem. And bye-bye to you too Picasso!” She ruffled his dog, and he didn’t tell her not to pet him. At this point, she already knew.

It was time to go.

Bruce had him finger painting. It wasn’t the suggestion of a therapist, but instead, a way to keep Steve occupied. He was basically a kid on summer vacation. Only, no friends. And he was blind. And he was in a bunker in Ohio. And he had deep emotional scarring.

Also, he might be growing a beard.

Steve took to it right away, though. Building a picture in your mind, it turns out, it pretty hard when you can’t see it manifest its way on to a page. Judging from Bruce’s uncontrollable laughter the first time he finished a piece, it was not quite as good as what he imagined in his head.

Somehow that made it all the better.

He was used to line work. Painting with globs of acrylic with his large fingers would’ve been change enough already. Being blind just spiced up the mix.

It was therapeutic. The coolness of the paint grinding across the rough canvas has a way of making his focus narrow down to the point of contact, not unlike a microscope. The ripples of the pad of his fingertips making invisible grooves in the thick paint as it got caught by the surface.

The blocks of color that he couldn’t keep track of coming together to form something he couldn’t look at. It was infuriating at first. The only thing he could control was the colors, having Bruce lay out a set arrangement. Now, it was a practice at letting go and accepting that he wouldn’t be able to see it. He let Bruce judge them. It didn’t matter anyway.

****

Bucky's flip was seamless and graceful. His explosion off the wall sent him spiraling through the water, snapping his hips to keep the momentum before he broke the surface, slicing through at inhuman speed. He’d lost count at what mile he was at. Normally he followed a set. Today, he was going until he was tired.

Until he couldn’t draw air into his lungs anymore.

Until he couldn’t push off the wall and he sunk into the quiet of the water.

He reached the end of the pool, flipped, and shoved off again. His thighs spasmed for a second, but he didn’t slow down.

He didn’t swim much. It burned an incredible amount of calories and hir trained mainly focused on skills, not fitness. But it was a good way to clear his mind. Everything narrowed down to an aching burn in his muscles and a fire in his lungs and his heart pounding a little too fast.

His legs shook when he got out and he reached in his bag for a bar that Bruce had made him. It tasted like shit. He didn’t think much of it as he shoved it down this throat.

Slowly, he made his way back through the main gym. His vision swam momentarily, but he was already recovering. Clint and Natasha were gone. For how long, he wasn’t sure. He’d been working out more lately, though. By the time he reached his place, he was so exhausted that even the threat of nightmares wouldn’t be able to keep him up.

He made pasta with shrimp and some sort of spicy sauce he found on the internet. The smell had his stomach cramping with need by the time he was done. He took his time eating, though. With real food, it was different. It was something to savor, not only for the caloric intake but from the taste and the texture and the feeling of slowly becoming full.

He licked the sauce clean from his plate every time.

There were a lot of things that didn’t catch his interest in the new world, and even more things that have been spoiled for him. Showers were something he detested and he wasn’t much for watching television except on movie nights with Natasha.

Cooking, though, he liked. Cooking was something Hydra had never touched on, and good food was definitely not something that they spoiled for him. He couldn’t quite remember what they had him on when he was awake in the base, but on the road, he kept to dry, formulated power. Add water and suck down the resulting goop.

Movie nights were another thing he liked. There was little talking that he had to part take on, no one else but Natasha to judge him, and an unlimited amount of film available.

Last week they watched a football movie. It was good. Inspirational, if you tend to get worked up by those type of things.

Ultimately, he forgot the title and the names of the characters before he’d even left the apartment.

Clint shows him how to use a bow and arrow. He thinks it’s pretty stupid. Why use a bow when you could just use a sniper, a rifle, a pistol even.

Of course, he took to it like a fish in water. Something about learning a new weapon was intoxicating to him. Better than working out. He spent hours trying to figure out the best technique, the angles of his body, the arch of the arrows and the bend of the bow.

Then, it was about using it in combat. It was how well he could fire it in a jump, in a slide, in a run.

How far was his range, how accurate were his fires?

He only stopped when pain tore through his back in a wonky landing, trying to get the damn thing to fly straight.

He staggered back to his room.

****

Steve's nightmares were less panicky now. He never woke up screaming or crying or calling out. Most of the time it was just disorientation and anxiety over something he couldn’t place. The dreams would fade as soon as he woke up. He didn’t try to hold on to them, and they were slippery creatures anyway.

He was thankful. He wasn’t sure how Bruce would react to a bawling Captain America, and Steve would have been embarrassed to let him see him like that.

Not that Bruce hadn’t taken care of him before, or knew the very limitations of mental health issues, or wasn’t one of the most understanding people he knew or would ever know. It’s just that, the dreams were personal. He didn’t want to openly advertise that he was a nutjob.

He thinks Pablo knows, though. The dog is by his side the moment he wakes up. Sometimes he even pushed his soft wet nose up against Steve’s neck, gently coaxing him out of a burning building, a crashing plane, the speeding train.

He was told he was a black lab. Now, with his soft head pushing into Steve’s hand, he had the sudden ache to see big brown eyes and velvet ears. He shifted over in his twin bed so he was crammed against the wall and patted the bed, coaxing Pablo to jump up. He was never much of a cuddler. There weren’t many people he wanted that close to him. But he craved the touch, and Pablo wasn’t shy about nestling up against Steve. He was warm and big and his breathing was steady.

    Steve wrapped an arm around his dog. The rest of the night passed in darkness.

****

    “You’re overworking yourself.”

    “I can handle it.”

    “You passed out yesterday.”

    “Only for a second.”

    “Do you realize how you sound? Do you realize that by doing this, you’re just hurting yourself?”

    “I thought your job was to not judge me.”

    “You’re intentionally being dense.”

    “You wouldn’t understand. I know my body. I know my limits. I said I can handle it, so I can.”

    “So you were intentionally trying to make yourself pass out?”

    “No.”

    “So how did it happen?”

    _Damn it. He was so much better than this. She cornered him within a minute. What the fuck was going on with him?_ He hesitated too long.

    “James. I’m not here to judge you, you’re right. I’m simply pointing out what all the doctors have told me. You don’t seem to trust them much anyway, so I wanted to give it a shot. Obviously, it’s not that easy. So you are going to need to give me a little feedback. What is going on in that head of yours?”

    “Ultraviolence of every kind.” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Bucky mirrored her. She sighed and twirled in her spinny chair.

    “You are very different from any of my other clients.”

    He stiffened, considering if he should take the bait or not. Sometimes she did this: distract him, relate it back to him, let him justify his actions and lead to the explanations. _The inner workings of his noggin,_ she sad jibed at him once.

    He was feeling testy today, even he could see that. He didn’t have to ask why. He could’ve made some noncommittal grunt and left it at that. See her struggle for a while because she hated a wasted meeting and hated wasted time. He could tell that much about her despite her easy silences and her casual, no-pressure attitude.

    It was his job to read people. She kept her life private, but there was only so much anyone could hide from him.

    The thought was stupid, though. They were on the same team. That’s what she kept saying. And he did believe it, despite their constant battles. Addie was the only therapist for him.

    He had tried others. They were all too stupid. Too dull. She pushed him. She made him push himself.

_We are on the same team, James._

    Still, he hated to see her win. Instead of asking ‘why, Addie, why am I so very different from all your other clients?’, he ground his nails into his thigh. “I’ve been distracted.” She said nothing. “I can control what I’m thinking when I am training. I have a focus. I feel like I don’t have a focus here. There is nothing going on. I’m growing _soft_.” He spat the word out like poison. “I want a mission. I want to think about something besides movies and what fucking coffee shop I am going to go to this morning. I want to be used for what I was made to do, not rot away in a fucking tower!”

    He barely registered what he was saying until it was out of his mouth, and even then, he wasn’t sure if it was the truth. But a mission did sound good, so he sat back, content with his little speech.

    He was going crazy in this tower. Whether from boredom or something else, who was to know?

    Addie frowned and clicked her pen. “A mission, huh?”

****

    Steve put his hand on the long nose of the animal. He could feel it’s warm breaths coming out in small huffs. Its nose was soft and its fur was dry. He could see its eyes. They were honey brown with long lashes to keep the flies away. Its little ears twitched in the wind, it’s mane lose and black.

    This time, it wasn’t a flash of clarity. He could roam the face of the horse and it didn’t shut down into darkness. Again, the blacks were blue and the reds were orange and it was practically glowing in the darkness that surrounded them. It was like when he could see James.

    This time, though, his heart thumped steadily in his chest. There was no panic. It was quiet except for him and the beast.

    Bruce had gone off somewhere. Either that, or he was waiting quietly beside them. The wind was turning cold and it bit through his jacket, but he didn’t dare look away. He would have cried, but no tears came. There was only peace.

    Bruce had insisted that they get out of the house. He’d found a small ranch close by, and they drove down in hopes of a tour. A young woman and her father and mother were the residents. They weren’t thrilled about the idea of showing to strangers around while they had work to do, but the power of money sways all.

    The woman, Sara-Grace, took them to the animals, letting Steve skim the skin of the pigs and fluff of the sheep. But as soon as he stepped near the horses in the open field, sounds were muffled by the wind sweeping across the grass. The animal came to him without prompting.

    There was only peace.

****

    Bucky screamed as a bullet ripped through the bone of his calf. He went down but was quick to get up and put a round into the lab tech’s head. His mouth frothed with blood and spit and he heard Tony cursing at him over the comm, but he ignored him.

   

The horse was gone. There was no warning. Sounds came back to him and sight left him. The animal licked his palm and trotted away.

    Thoughts of James filtered through his head. He was unsure why, though.

  

  “Put me on the fucking list _now_.”

    “Yeah, you saying that doesn’t really make me want to put you on that much.”

    “I want to be next.”

    “That’s not happening.”

    A desk was punched. “I need to see him.”

    “So you’ll see him when he gets back. Other people already volunteered to stay with him first.”

    “I’m going crazy.”

    “Well, it’s not about you. And that’s what you have a therapist for.”

    “The last time I wanted to see him, it took a god to hold me back. Are you a god?”

 

    “I have to go soon.”

    “What?”

    “I have research that I can’t do with the equipment here.” Bruce’s voice was tentative as if he didn’t want to upset Steve with the news. “But they are sending someone else. A little change in pace might be nice?”

    “Yeah, no I understand completely. I guess….thank you. Thank you.”

    “Of course. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.”

    “No. No, it’s alright. Erm...do you know who they are sending?”

****

    Steve wasn’t sure exactly how to take the news when it came in that Tony was going to be staying here with him for a month. It seemed so out of character. The man was all about comfortable living. He lived in a huge tower in New York and he built robots for a living. To come out to Ohio was strange enough, much less coming to Ohio to take care of a blind Steve.

    It was no secret that their relationship was a bit tense sometimes. It wasn’t only their ideological differences, but also their personality traits. Both far too stubborn and always convinced their right. Steve was as dumb as a brick in Tony’s eyes, and Tony was just a bit too arrogant.

    Bruce seemed surprised too. It came as a brief email, and that was that. Bruce would be leaving shortly and Tony would be dropped off with his designer brand bags and too large sunglasses, already spitting quips about the entire idea.

    But god it made so much sense. Tony was one of Steve’s closest friends. He wasn’t sure what made them work, but when they were on the same side, they fell into a natural flow. Steve was just vulnerable enough to make Tony at ease with him, and Tony didn’t take Steve too seriously, just enough so that it made him feel more like a person and less like a charity case. They rapid fired jibes back and forth, and somehow were always in tune with each other.

    Natasha’s relationship was one he couldn’t live without. But with Tony, he found that living was so much better.

    Still, the idea of living together for a month straight was unnerving, and he would’ve thought that Tony would’ve seen this too. He said himself that he’d rather get castrated with a wooden spoon than to spend a week in Alaska. He doubted that Ohio was going to be much more exciting.

    But in the email, it all seemed to be pretty set, and so Steve just nodded. Bruce made a small comment, confirming Steve’s wariness, but sent an email back confirming the time and place of the drop-off. And now they waited.

    Spending several weeks with Bruce had been relaxing, if maybe a little bit cathartic. The man was dedicated to his work still, and so he was able to get a lot of his gear out west and worked in a small basement. He was not a great conversationalist, and neither was Steve, so they lived in harmonic quiet that sometimes left Steve feeling rather pent up. There was only so much he could do, and so he worked out and painted and walked. But he couldn’t read or watch T.V, and sometimes he questioned why he was even out here.

    Sometimes, with Bruce, it felt like exile. He wasn’t used to spending long periods of time alone, unlike the scientist. It made him antsy.

    With Tony, it will be on the opposite side of the spectrum. He was trying to soak up the last few hours of quiet before Tony busted in and took control of the scene. There would no doubt be exponentially more explosions, more burnt food, and less quiet.

    And no doubt Tony would press into Steve’s personal life when he got bored. That was something that Bruce never did. The closest he ever got was when they could hear the jet approaching. They were both standing outside, Bruce with his bags and Steve without shoes.

    “Do you think….do you think this is helping?”

    It came out of nowhere. They didn’t exactly dance around their problems, but they never addressed them either.

    “Helping….how? Still blind, if that’s what you mean.” He laughed nervously.

    “I...am not sure what I mean. But you seem better out here that when you were in the tower. But I don’t know how you are actually feeling. So….I guess I was just wondering if you feel….better?” The question was full of holes and pauses, and he could easily imagine the older man running a hand through his thinning hair, frowning at himself. The thought made him smile.

    The jet grew louder.

    “I do feel better than I was in the tower. I think that….even without the blindness, maybe this trip would’ve been good for me anyway.”

    “That’s. Good.” He could hear the soft smile in his voice.

    The jet landed smoothly from the sound of it. The aircraft was designed by the best, and it never failed to amaze. If he was sad that he couldn’t see it, well then add it to the list.

    Steve stuck his hand out as the jet cut off. “Thank you again, Bruce. I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

    “See you soon.” They shook hands. Bruce thumped down the wooden steps and into the small grass. Steve stayed on the porch.

    For a moment, he was all alone. Bruce entered the limbo, traveling back into their world. He became the Hulk again, in his walk from the house to the jet. He became Bruce Banner.

    Steve remained behind, not quite Steve Rogers, and definitely not Captain America. For a moment, he was alone in his humanity in a small cabin in Ohio. He stood there listening to the jet’s deep rumble for several minutes. Typical Tony, taking his sweet time.

    And then

    “Hey Rogers.”

    Steve opened his mouth to respond, but the greeting died in his throat. He had to have imagined it. But while his mind was reeling to catch up, his body recognized the voice. He took a step back.

    “Tony’s in the jet. I hope….”Nervous. He was nervous, and fuck, what the hell was happening. “Fuck. I…”

    “What are you doing here?”

    “I wanted to talk to you about some things.” Christ, Steve could practically hear the stubborn chin tilt and the steely glint in his eyes. What the hell did that mean? Talk about some things?

    Steve felt anger bubbling up in his chest. “No.”

    “What?”

    “No! No, you can’t just fucking-no! Get the hell away from me!” Steve’s breaths were coming out ragged and hot. This was a fucking ambush. The only time that Bucky was willing to talk to him was when it was on his terms. His terms and he was always pushing and pushing, and lately, Steve was feeling closer and closer to breaking.

    All this time away, and he still couldn’t figure out how to act around Bucky. It was either tiptoeing around him or lashing out. God, he just wanted his friend back.

    The thought instantly made him want to kneel over or punch himself in the face.

    Bucky was quiet for a long time. For a moment, Steve thought he’d left. “I’m sorry.” It was small but the weight of it left him breathless.

    “That’s not fair,” he whispered.

    “I know.”

    “You can’t just….”

    “I know. I know, Steve. I’m sorry. I just….” Steve couldn’t fill in the gap. “I just want to talk. Tony is still here. He’s waiting, and, I won’t stay.”

    _I know you won’t_. It was on the tip on his tongue. He swallowed it down, along with the panic building up in his chest.

    Bucky was here to talk. To talk about _them_. After months and months of not speaking, not even making eye contact.

    Steve remembered looking at Bucky and seeing him. When Bucky had him pressed against the counter in the kitchen, hands boxing him in and nose nudging along his neck and the underside of his jaw. His legs had felt like lead and his thoughts scattered like helium. Bucky could’ve taken him there, he later realized. Steve would have melted underneath those lips. And god, those hands.

    When his skin was still damp from the shower and Bucky sliding his calloused fingers up his arm causing the hair on his neck to rise. Causing arousal to claw at his belly and his breath to go short.

    And now Bucky wanted to talk about it? If the thought of Bucky’s hands on him weren't enough, then the way he stormed out when Steve flinched from the kiss was. As if Bucky realized what he was doing only after it had stopped. _As if he were disgusted at himself. Or Steve._ It made him nauseous.

    He hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t even know what to say.

    “Please?” And that was Bucky. There was the nervousness, and Steve remembered then when Bucky knew he’d messed up. When he’d pushed Steve a little too far. When he treated him too much like a child or his kid brother in public, or when he casually mentioned that Steve would be safe at home when he _knew_ how much Steve wanted to be in Europe with him. When he brought home Kelly Stuart and fucked her in the other room, keeping Steve up all night for the 3rd time that week.

    The upturned brows and soft grey eyes and the gentle “please,” knowing that Steve would never turn him away. Because, _end of the line_ , remember?

    Steve cracked his right-hand knuckles with his thumb. “Okay,” he whispered back. “Okay,” a second time, more for himself.

    Bucky sighed in relief. Steve wondered if Bruce and Tony were watching them, and then thought about Tony for a half second, and then knew of course they were. At least Tony was, probably making snarky, speculating comments along the way.

    “Can we go inside?”

    “Yeah! Yeah,” in that too loud Barnes way.

    There was a terrible moment where Steve felt for the door and was unable to find the handle. He flushed, but Bucky ended up taking him by the elbow and guiding him back into the warmth of the cabin.

    There was a small living area where Steve sat on an oversized chair and Bucky sat on a couch. Then, another terrible moment of silence before Steve blurted out, “I’m sorry I don’t call you James.” It came out too fast and his teeth clicked by how quickly he snapped his mouth shut. He felt his face glow red, and god he hated his Irish skin sometimes.

    “That’s….okay. I don’t mind,” he said slowly.

    “Yes you do,” mumbled Steve. “I tried to-I should’ve just-”

    “No. It’s okay. Really. I used to, yeah. But, I mean, it’s - I don’t know.”

    “I just don’t want you to think- I never thought that you-” Steve shook his head in frustration. Why was it so hard to get the words out? Something as simple as a name. How were they suppose to talk about-

    “I don’t. It’s okay.” It was so soft that Steve had to turn away for a moment, ashamed of how simple forgiveness affected him. Everyone had told him a thousand times: _He’d not Bucky. He’s not who you remember. You can’t expect him to be the person he once was._ Over and over again, they reminded him. And over and over again, he called that man Bucky. It was such a simple change.

    He didn’t want to be stuck in the past, but he couldn’t help it. The sharp jut of his nose and his wolfish grin made it too damn hard.

    He couldn’t get the words out, but Bucky understood. Even after a century, he understood.

    Steve felt like he would never understand.

    “I’ll try harder.”

    “Don’t”

    “What?”

    “Don’t. Just call me Bucky. That’s my name.” Steve tried to respond, but it died on his throat. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve said anyway. Bucky hurried on. “I can’t explain why, but when you say it, it feels...nice. James is my name here. It would be weird if Natasha or Bruce called me Bucky. But with you….I can’t explain it. Maybe it was just because you knew me as that.”

    It felt _nice_?

    It was the first kind thing Bucky had told him since they’d seen each other in the ’40s. And his soft please and his gentle touch. And instead of being happy, Steve felt like he was going to vomit. His lungs locked up and he gripped the armrest of the chair so hard it started splintering within the cotton. _Gain some self-control_ , because _fuck_ , all the man had said was that it felt _nice_ when Steve said his name.

    He couldn’t keep up. The silence and then the shouting and then the kindness. He’s read about a thousand times that the definition of insanity was repeating the same action over and over again and expecting to get the same result. It was cliche and annoying, and Steve felt it to his core. He didn’t know what to expect next. He didn’t know what would set Bucky off.

    “Fuck! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to-”

    “I’m fine. Just, gimme a fucking second.”

    “Okay.”

    He fisted his hair in his hand. God he wished he could see him. They were on uneven playing fields.

    “You keep doing this.”

    “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

    “I don’t want it to be like this.”

    He heard Bucky swallow. Steve took a ragged breath in, reigning back in his emotions. “I’m sorry.”   

    “It’s okay.” He sat back up, fingers against his forehead, trying to work out an incoming headache. “It’s not your fault.”

    “I’ve been working on things in therapy.” Steve blinked. Bucky went to therapy? It was obvious and probably even part of some legal agreement, but somehow he hadn’t ever made the connection.

    Steve didn’t go to therapy.

    “She tells me things like ‘I own my own body’ and ‘I’m not a weapon.” _I’m not a weapon!_ Steve didn’t dwell on the memory. “Then it’s my job to believe it. Pretty simple, right?” He chuckled, and Steve’s breathing slowed. “But, one of the hard ones was when she told me ‘it’s not your fault’. We got into a lot of fights about that one. Destroyed her office once. Asked her if it was my fault after chucking her computer out the window. The closed window.”

    There was a time where that was his cue to laugh and start giving Bucky shit. Now, Steve swallowed down the urge to tell Bucky _it isn’t your fault_. To get down on his knees and beg the man to believe him. His fingers twitched, but that was it.

    “We came to a compromise. A fluid compromise. Hydra really fucked me over. I know that now. There are things that I do that other people don’t. Things that normal people don’t do. I’m gonna have a few….side effects. But there are also things that I can control. Like instead of breaking every camera in the entire building because I like my privacy, I can go talk to Tony and ask him to work me around the surveillance aspect of my pardon.” Steve's lips curled up at this. He could imagine Tony’s face when the winter soldier came to him asking for help, and of course Tony did it.

    “I guess what I’m trying to say is that there are things that Hydra did to me that I can never undo, and I have certain urges and peculiarities. And then there is me being a dick because I act on those urges. And when it comes to you, I have all sorts of conflicting….urges. It makes it difficult. That’s why I stayed away. It seems like when I come close, all I end up doing is hurting you. And it was frustrating that I couldn’t control myself.”

    Steve shuttered at the confession. “But when you leave, it hurts worse.”

    “Yeah. For me too.”

    “I don’t know what I do. I don’t know how-” He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence, but _again_ , Bucky understood.

    “That's just it though. It isn’t about what you are doing. My reactions have been unjustified. I swing from one side of the spectrum to the other without control. And I guess what I’m really here for is to apologize.”

    Again, for what seemed like the millionth time, Steve was left speechless. Because this confession of _everything_ , this was so Bucky that it hurt. It physically hurt. He would mess up, but he always sought forgiveness. He always knew when to apologize, and when to fight.

    It seemed like Steve was only good at fighting. He was good at pushing back. And now he was running, and he was only good at running.

    “I….”

    “It’s okay. I know I’m laying this all out on you. And I’ve had time to think about it. I just, I had to get it off my chest.” He made a mode to leave, but Steve reached out, grabbing him by his arm in a lucky shot in the dark.

    “You don’t know me at all if you think I’d let you do all the talking, Buck.” His voice was thick, but he felt strong. Bucky’s arm was cold under his fingers. _The metal one_ , he realized.

    Bucky let out a small puff of air. “Never could get you to shut up.”

    He used Bucky’s arm as leverage to stand up, facing the man who once knew him better than himself, and he had no idea what he was going to say. Only that there was suddenly a chance for them now and it was in reaching distance if only Steve decided to reach out and grasp it. He tightened his grip.

    Starting a fight was easy, he suddenly realized. It was staying still and building that was hard. He was tired of fighting, and he was tired of running. He’s lived for 70 years in stand still and spent the rest of it swinging blindly and hauling ass.

    “Stay with me.”

    “I….what?”

    Steve couldn’t help the gleeful laugh. He couldn’t see the other man’s face, but he liked to think he already knew what it looked like. “Stay with me here. Just for a little while.” His heart was hammering in his chest. God, they were close enough to feel Bucky’s breath on his face and the heat radiating from his body. The metal was unyielding under him, and it was hard to tell how hard he was squeezing.

    “I can’t.”

    “Why?” Steve breathed. Something shifted then. It was hard to tell, but something changed. Bucky turned his body to face Steve, their chests practically flushed, and Steve felt the tips of his ear grow warm. He bit at his bottom lip nervously, and he listened as Bucky took a deep draw of air.

    “It wouldn’t be smart.” His voice was lower, Steve wasn’t imagining it, and it thrilled him. It was clear then that for all the power he held over Steve, Steve held just as much over him.

    “Says who?”

    “Everyone,” he murmured.

    The dark gravel shot down Steve’s spin and grew warm in his stomach. Steve let out a shaky sigh. “Fuck, maybe they’re right. It seems like lately, every time I’m around you-” He cut that sentence off at the tail and he could feel the heat rising from his cheeks, spreading down his neck and chest. God, what was he even saying?

    That everytime Bucky came near him, it was everything Steve could do to not lean down and mark up his neck? But Bucky’s breathing stuttered for a second, and the contact point between them was _burning_ Steve’s hand, but he didn’t let go.

    “Maybe….that’s a good point. There is still a lot….” But the man wasn’t as eloquent as he had been a minute ago.

    _Bucky wanted him_. But he was right. There was still so much that needed to be said, and having sex get in the middle of it could devastate things.

    Just the thought of sex with Buck had his heart rate kicking up, though, and every hopeless night sharing an apartment with the man, sharing a wall with the man, hearing the echoes of those sinful sounds, all came back to him in a rush. When the nights were hot and Steve pressed his face into his pillow and his palm in between his legs were the worst nights. And now Bucky had tried to kiss him. Was admitting that he wanted him.

    When had this happened? And how? It seemed impossible that the young soldier in the museum would ever consider touching another man. It was impossible. It had Steve’s head spinning.

    They’d been standing there in silence, he realized. Gooseflesh prickled his arms when he realized that Bucky was watching him.

    What did he see?

    “How long have you….liked men?”

    “About as long as I’ve like women,” he confessed in the quiet. Steve nodded, feeling his eyes slip closed for a moment.

    “You never told me.”

    “You never told me either.”

    Steve gave a little laugh. “Just figured you knew. I was always trailing behind you. Could never get a girl.”

    “Steve, are you kidding me? I was the one who followed you.” Steve snorted at that.

    “Oh, come on Buck. We both know-”

    “Steve, I had days were I felt like I couldn’t keep up, and that one day, you’d leave me behind. You were all over the place, drawing things and talking to people and starting fights in filthy alleyways.” He paused to swallow. “And once you had the serum...I thought you were gone for sure.”

    “Buck, you were the one who was always going dancing and talking to people.”

    “But those things weren’t real. I did those things….well, I’m not exactly sure why I did those things. Maybe because I was scared that if I didn’t….then you would start to wonder….I don’t know. I remember being scared that one day you would figure it out.” He listened to Bucky struggle through his sentences. “But I guess it wouldn’t’ve been such a bad thing, maybe, if you found out.” Bucky’s voice cracked at the end, and Steve’s heart broke a little bit.

    He reached up with his free and cupped Bucky’s cheek. It was warm and dry and he lightly skimmed his thumb across a sharp cheekbone, just like Peggy had done ages ago when she’d realized that he’d never truly be hers, despite his love for her. Bucky leaned into the touch, shivering at the contact.

    “When I saw you, I thought this was a second chance. I think that’s why having you so close and not being able to….” To touch, to smile at, to talk to, to laugh with. “To be with you. It was driving me insane, I think.”

    “Steve, I’m sorry. I’m-”

    Buck stopped when Steve smiled. It was something small and sad and hopeful. “It’s okay, Buck. You know I’ll wait for you.”


	5. Concur the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to anyone who has been waiting for this story to continue for actually so long. I just wanted to say thanks to anyone who left kudos on the story. Your support it really nice :) A really huge thanks to anyone who has commented as well! You guys don't understand how much it means to me. I really love to hear what you like, your thoughts, and even what you weren't a fan of.  
> Thanks for reading. More updates will come, but I can't say how long it will take me to get them up. Hopefully less than a year this time.  
> And finally, sorry for the typos. Try as I might, I will never catch them all.

“No. You’re wrong. So he’s a little OP, so what? I don’t like it for the story or the marketing value. I like it because of its history. He was the first superhero. He is the OG, and he’s an interesting study.”

    “Are you kidding me? Interesting is the last way I would describe Superman. He is jacked up on powers. The only way you would ever be able to defeat him is with a little green rock found on a dead planet, which is actually ridiculous. He has no humanity, no internal struggle, and nothing that makes him worth watching. He doesn’t have to outsmart his opponent because he can just crush their skull in. Bulletproof, can fly, and don’t get me started on that fucking curl.”

    “Okay, well, that’s where I would argue another point of view. Superman is pretty powerful, yeah, but what makes him interesting is his ultimate power to help a race that isn’t even his own. He’s adapted humanity as his home, and instead of going around like a celebrity, he is just a reporter. With human heroes, that makes sense from a security point of view. But he’s a powerful alien, and some random person wouldn’t be able to kill him. He could be a god, but instead, he just lays low.

    “Well, just by where and when he was raised, he was probably a racist, so.”

    “Oh my fucking god, are you kidding me? Listen, old man-”

    “Old man?! “

    “Yeah, you could probably be my dad, but only if he had me when he was like 40.”

    Steve sighed and wandered away from Andi and Tony. They got into some heated debate almost every time they saw each other, and yet, Tony still insisted on coming with Steve. It always ended with them mocking each other and Tony threatening to shut down the entire place.    

    It was weird how Andi didn’t recognize him. Tony was as high profile as you could get. But the first time he saw Tony out of a suit, be it tailor-made or made of iron, he did a double take. The man was so much smaller off the stage and out of the air. He should be surprised that she didn’t notice, but he wasn’t. After all, why would Tony Stark be in the middle of Ohio with his random blind friend?

    Outside, the air was warming up. He could feel the sun on his skin even if he couldn’t see it. The wind blew past him in small gusts. The air was drier than it was in New York when the colder months gave way to intense heat. He thumbed the wooden rail.

  _“So you and Barnes, huh?”_

_Steve rolled his sightless eyes just for the effect. “So you and nature, huh?”_

_“Hey, no judgment here. Saw it coming from a mile away. You two are just two peas in a pod. Two love doves in a tree. The peanut butter to his jelly and the apple to his sauce. I totally get it, Steve-o.”_

_“I miss Bruce already. Is the jet gone yet?”_

_“Long gone. Only you and me for miles and miles and miles. And some cows. And maybe a couple ax murders, but only time will tell about that one.”_

    As much as Tony claimed to have seen it coming, Steve was blind sighted. It had been maybe a week since Bucky had visited him, and Steve was still reeling. Tony hadn’t known Bucky when they were younger. He hadn’t seen a young, charming soldier spin two girls around, one on each hand, and have both of them stay the night with him. He hadn’t seen Buck turn the other way when they came across a pair of twinks asking if they wanted a good time. How could a man like that like other men? How could a man who has seen every bad part about Steve still tell him he wanted him?

    In the end, Buck left the cabin. It didn’t make sense for him to try and stay. But Steve wished he’d at least gone back with him. As much as not being able to go outside would have sucked, missing Bucky, and knowing that Bucky was missing him, seemed just as bad. He couldn’t escape the thoughts. Memories were returning that he’d been fighting not to think about. Memories like running through the streets of Brooklyn when they were younger. Memories like Bucky leaning in, planing small kisses on his neck, Steve clutching the towel, feeling smaller in Buck’s arms. Feeling like Bucky could’ve done anything, and that heat in his stomach, making his eyes flutter closed.

    If he’d just kissed Steve, and Steve hadn’t turned away. Would his lips be soft or chapped from the wind on the roof and training and stubble?

    Steve swallowed, trying to cut off the thought.

    And god, the _dreams_. They had started to become more tactile rather than visual. Sometimes it was a feeling or a sensation. The impact of when he hit the river and the dropping sensation as the plane entered free fall started to become harder to tell the difference between. Only memories had strong visual cues now.

    Dreams of Bucky were no exception. In memories, everything was sharp, as if his brain still remembered how to see, and was craving the lost sense. There was so much detail. He could’ve counted ever lash on Bucky’s eyes if he wanted to. They were something spectacular, and when he woke up, it took a while for him to open his eyes.

    And then there were dreams that weren’t memories. Regular dreams, but with less detail to the cut of his jaw and the more about the power under strained forearms. Sometimes they were nightmares, and they were terrifying. He was still able to fight back somehow, but instead of seeing the blank stare of cobalt eyes before he knew who Steve was, he could just feel the indifference. There was nothing. James was nothing but a stranger trying to kill Steve, and it paralyzed him. Made him choke out cries of help for his team. He’d wake up clawing at the sheets, sticky with cold sweat and nausea.

    He’d had waves of nightmares about Bucky when he’d first seen him again. The moment the mask had come off was a reoccurring one. And he’d woken up only to rush to the toilet to vomit more than once when he’d dream of the helicarrier. He’d know with terrifying clarity that his best friend would kill him. There was no thought past that moment. Only a metal first beating him into submission, and a flesh one, the same one that saved him so many times, laying waste to him.

    They faded though. He’d tried to get used to living with Bucky, and a resemblance of a routine with him made things better. He became less of a ghost and more of a colleague. It was painful and made Steve’s ribs ache and made him beat on sandbags until his hands were bruised and bloody, but at least the nightmares stopped for a while.

    Now, with everything thrown so far out of the loop again, his sleep was getting worse and worse.

    And then there were the dreams that made him clutch the sheets for a different reason. Bucky was _everywhere_. It was almost too much, and Steve hoped that he wasn’t making noises that Tony could hear.

    He’d had one last night. The sensation of Bucky sucking small love bites into his inner thigh made him clutch long dark hair, his body pressing up for more, but large hands holding him down. Everything was so intense. Bucky raking his nails down Steve’s sides, coaxing him to let go. Steve had woken up face down, rutting on the mattress, burning up in his own skin. All he could do was ride it out, gritting his teeth against any noise trying to escape.

    “You wanna talk about a real hero? How about Iron Man? Guy’s a freak!” Andi’s voice cut through Steve’s thoughts, tearing him out of the memory so rapidly it made him dizzy for a moment.

    “Iron Man? Please, he-you can’t-no way.” Steve blinked, trying to catch back up to their conversation.

    “Yeah, that’s what I thought. He’s got the style, the guns, and the frikin _swagger_. Not to mention he does it all while actually just being a super nerd.”

    Tony laughed in exasperation, and Steve smiled, wondering how Tony was going to play this one. “You can’t just say that.”

    “Yeah? Why not?”

    “He’s not even a hero like the rest of those guys. He sells _weapons_ to _bad guys_. What would you know about that, _kid_?”

    “God, okay, I was joking before, but now you are actually starting to piss me off. He _used_ to sell weapons to bad guys. Okay, so does every politician in the US. But he has done things that no other could do. He’s a genius, and I bet he has the misunderstood thing going for him too. Not to mention his suits and his advancements in AI, medicine, and-”

    “Okay, okay, okay, just. God. Are you gonna ring this up or what?”

    Steve could hear the smirk in Andi’s silence.

    A minute later, Tony was rejecting Andi’s overly sweet offer to help with the groceries and muttering about how the damn dog was more trouble than it was worth, hauling a bag of doggy chow into the rental car. Steve chewed on his lip to avoid laughing.

  

  He needed to go see Peggy more often. There were a million excuses not to see her, but at the end of the day, they are only excuses, and Peggy was his friend.

    She was more than his friend. They'd lived in a past life together. In another dimension, there was a Peggy and a Steve Rogers living out their golden years together. Sometimes, he hated that Steve Rogers. Other times, he only felt sorry for him.

    She was the last pure connection to home he had left. Bucky....he wasn’t sure Bucky counted anymore. But Peggy had lived through his death and 70 years of the world’s advancement without him. She’d known him and she’d known everything that he slept through. It was an important connection and one that he knew he should value. One that he should give more to. But God, it was just so _hard_.

    She was so old now. Her hands were crinkled paper, almost too delicate to even hold in his own, too-big fingers. Her mind was still there for the most part. She knew who he was and what was happening around her. But sometimes she would get confused, especially when she talked about the past. A past almost a century gone, yet only a couple years ago for him. She was so old, and it was so hard to see a reminder of how off course his life had become.

    They never talked about it. Maybe it was just remnants of their upbringing. Maybe it was just because they both were from a time passed, and they brought out old habits in each other. But, he has always wondered how long she knew, and how she found out.

After all, Steve has only admitted it to himself recently, when he saw Bucky in his army uniform, hat tilted out at an angle like a true fresh recruit, holding no respect and a little too cocky for his own good. He was like another person entirely. Everything from his sautner to his grin was suave and cheeky and so, so Bucky it made his head spin and his stomach drop, and he felt simultaneously nauseous and over the moon. Later, he cringed and hid his face in his hands at how fucking corny it all was. Childhood friend? A young soldier? A sad farewell? Check. Check. Check.

    She must have seen the way he looked at him. He tried to hide it, and he thought he’d gotten pretty good at it. After all, none of their other friends guessed. All they’d ever gotten was light teasing and ribbing. But there was a moment in the camp, before they started planning to catch the train, when he knew she knew.

They were throwing little pebbles and twigs at Jim Morita who was trying to sleep. There was always so much to do around camp that one tended to dive into a couple minutes of relaxation. Sleep came in half hours and meals were eaten fast. The quiet break with Barnes made Steve feel like he was back at home, and ultimately, made him forget himself.

    Bucky had balled up a little piece of joint paper. They didn’t have any tobacco anyway. He wet it in his mouth, creating a little wet ball. For a long moment, he paused, eyebrows narrowing in concentration. His blue eyes were hard steel, new freckles dusting the bridge of his nose from the sun, bottom lip pulling in. Steve wasn’t watching the throw. He was looking at Bucky. And when the thought made its way into his big dumb brain, he tore his eyes away, face flush in embarrassment, looking around to see if anyone noticed. And of course, Peggy Carter was there, watching him watch Bucky. He froze, breaking eye contact for a moment before inevitably getting drawn back into her gaze. He was sure he looked like a dog getting caught digging around the pantry. He couldn’t help it.

    The look on her face made his throat close. She pulled her lips in, pressing them together, her eyes flicking to Barnes as he brought his arm back and launched the small, spit-soaked ball into the air. The corners of her mouth turned down a half degree, dainty eyebrows narrowing in an emotion he couldn't place. And then she turned away.

    The spitwad scored in a beautiful arc out of Buck’s hand and into Jim’s open ear. And when he turned to Steve, a grin stretching to his ears and fists in the air and saw Steve watching Peggy’s retreating form, he clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was whipped. Then he shoved him off the log they were sitting on and laughed at Jim who was looking for a big stick to hit the two of them with.

    “Steve.”

    Steve jerked, sitting up and turning to face Tony, who sounded close. Like, sitting on the bed close. Steve blinked, heart stuttering too fast just from lying on a bed. For a second, he was disoriented, going from a memory full of color back to darkness. “Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, voice coming off a little too high.

    Tony hesitated for just a second. “Hey big guy, it’s almost 1:00. Thought you might have just been tired, but now I can see I’ve just caught you jerking off. Totally fine, totally natural-”

    “Jesus Christ, Stark.”

    “I’m just saying, could you act any more suspicious. If you could’ve seen your face. It’s a miracle you work for SHIELD. Is this why Natasha likes you so much? It is kinda amusing.”

    “I wasn’t-” Steve sighed, feeling a flush rise up anyways. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with annoyance.

    “Then what the hell are you doing in here?”

    “Thinking.”

    “Thinking all morning? Well, that sounds dangerous.”

    It was 1:00 already? He was normally up by 7:30. What had he even been doing? He could only remember the last couple of minutes. He knew he hadn’t been asleep. But how else do you explain…

    “Yeah, you’re probably right. Wouldn’t want to hurt myself.”

    “That’s the spirit. Concur the day, or whatever.”

   

For every 10 miles they traveled, the lights seemed a little brighter, sounds seemed a little louder, and he pressed his fingers to his forehead a little harder. It pounded behind his left eye, making his stomach churn.

    “Not looking so good, Cap. You sure you don’t wanna land on the highway or something? We can grab you a Starbucks? Nice and cold and sugary. Yummmmm.”

    “It’s fine,” he grunted out. For Tony to be outwardly worrying about him means he really looked worse for wear. He could feel goosh flesh start to prickle his arms as sweat ran down his neck.

It was probably a good thing they were going back to New York. The headache had been on and off for a couple days, sometimes so bad that all he could do is press his face into the pillow and try not to groan too loud. Then they would go away in an hour, and it was like nothing ever happened. The first couple times, Steve waved it off, and Tony made quips which meant he was worried, but not willing to force Steve to go back quite yet. That in itself was surprising. Either his “little episode”, as Stark calls it, really did a number on him, or they really briefed him on what to do when he was actually alone with Steve. He could imagine Clint looking sternly at Tony’s wide, innocent eyes.

   _“Don’t push him to do something he doesn’t want to do, or come back because you miss your New York toys. Understand? He’s there for himself.”_

    Whatever the reason, Tony gave him space. Maybe he just thought Steve was taking some time to mope. But the fourth time it happened, Tony found Steve curled up on his bed, twisted in sheets, painting with the pain inside his head. He called the tower, telling JARVIS to let everyone know they would be coming home for a couple days.

    Good thing he did, though. This morning he could barely stand. “Jesus, Steve, what the hell is going on with you? Have you not been taking our gummy vitamins?” He couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even groan. He heard Tony call Bruce and tell him to get the jet over here.

    He wasn’t sure how much time passed between then and when the jet finally landed. He stayed in his bed and tried not to move. Tried not to think. He was in Brooklyn all over again, but without Bucky in the other room. Tony stayed with him, and for once, he was quiet. There was the occasional ‘bing’ of his phone, but other than that, no sounds. Steve might have drifted off to sleep once or twice only to slip awake, not sure of when he was, only that there was still pain.

    He heard the low bass rumble of the engine and then Tony leaving only to come back with Bruce. There were small whisperings before Bruce came closer. Steve didn’t bother picking his head up. He couldn’t see them anyway. “Hey, Steve. I brought something that might make you feel a little bit better. Can you sit up?”

    He licked dry lips before taking in a lung full of air just to produce a small “yeah.” His limbs felt stiff and Bruce took the liberty of taking him under the arm and lifting him up a little bit so his back was resting on the headboard. A plastic water bottle was pressed to his lips, and he swallowed the mild, sweet-tasting liquid. It was cool and he was thirsty. He took several long swings before it was taken away.

    Almost instantly, the pain lessened. He let out an involuntary groan of relief. The pressure under his eyes receded enough for him to think about something else besides the overwhelming pain. “That’s some good stuff you got there, doc.”

    Bruce patted his shoulder and let out a chuckle.

    “Maybe I should try a little sip.”

    “Stay away, Stark.”

    “My arms feel weird.”

    “Yeah, you might be a little bit uncoordinated for the next hour. It’s good stuff, but also pretty strong. Let’s just get you back home where we can figure out what’s going on.”

    Steve nodded. He drank the rest and slowly shifted his legs from under the sheets. With the help of both men, he was pulled to his feet. “Whoa.” Despite only seeing darkness, the world spun for a second. It was like he was drunk. His legs felt shaky underneath him and he hadn’t even walked yet. “I feel like a newborn colt.”

    “You weight twice as much.”

    The walk to the plane was easy. He managed not to trip over anything, and once they were out of the house, it was just a short distance across clipped grass. They took off as soon as the three of them were strapped down. Steve's stomach lurched as they took off, and he was back in the cockpit of the plane, hanging up on Peggy, watching miles of ice and frigid water pass by underneath. There was a numbness in his chest that has been there since the train.

    It was cold even inside the aircraft, and he opened and closed his hands. _There was no other way_. There was no other way. He wanted to see his mother again. He wanted to see Bucky again. And if he could save a couple lives while doing it, well then, even better. It was always going to end like this though. It was always going to end.

    He took the controls in his hands. The leather was so cold it hurt, so he gripped them even harder. _Sorry, Peggy. I love you. Tell the Commandos I love them too. And this world, I love it too. There’s just no other way._

    He never let the plane go into free fall. He pushed the handles down the entire way. There was no letting go. No blissful moments before the crash. He didn’t deserve to let go. He knew the pain it would cause. He knew it, and he still dove. It was the most selfish thing he’d ever done. But in that last minute, he’d felt completely in control. After weeks and weeks of hell, of fighting, and so much loss, he was finally in control again. And he supposed that was relief enough.

    “How are you doing there big guy?” Tony’s voice sounded loud, and Steve realized that the plane engine had cut off. The hair on his arms rose, but he couldn't pinpoint a reason. His neck felt still, and he rolled his shoulders before answering.

    “Okay. Could use a little bit more of the magic juice.” His voice dies down to a hoarse whisper by the end. He felt out of breath. He was exhausted, and all he’d been doing was sitting here. These feelings, though, they felt familiar. He remembered this. The deep ache in his head and bones.

    “Well, there is some in the tower. Think you can make it?”

    Steve swallowed. T _hey were already there? Where has the time gone?_ “Made it through a world war. Made it through aliens. Think I can handle stairs.”

    “Well, he’s still got the strength for snark.” Tony gripped his hands and pulled him to his feet. He might have been embarrassed about the way he followed unsteadily, staggering towards the other man so hard it made Tony grunt, but he was too tired to get that far in his mental process. The cold was starting to set in again. He’d forgotten about it.

    Bruce took him under his other arm, and together, two of the smartest men in the universe hauled a semi-delirious, blind super soldier out of the quinjet. When did the world become so complicated?

    They walked down the ramp but paused at the end. Before Steve could ask why, a small cold hand touched his cheek. He automatically leaned into it. “Hey, Nat.”

    “What’s wrong with him?” Her voice was sharp and she ignored his greeting, but her hand stayed on his neck, cupping where it slopped down into the shoulder. He was eternally grateful to be back, just then. He hadn’t even thought about seeing the others. The last few hours had just been pain. There was no thinking about the future.

    Who else was with them? Even if he weren’t blind, he doubted he’d be able to open his eyes and look. Somehow, the daylight was still too bright even without being able to process it.

    “Well, that’s what we are going to find out. So if you could move, Princess, we are carrying a super soldier right now. Kinda heavy.” There as a moment of silence before Tony cleared his throat. “Heh, sorry. Been away for a while. It’s nice to see you”

    “I’m okay, Nat,” he murmured.

    “Yeah, looks like it,” she muttered, equally soft. Her hand released his neck, and they started moving again. No one else was there to greet him. He felt unease `stir in his stomach. He hadn’t seen Clint in a really long time. And Natasha was up here, and they seemed to be more of a group package lately. Was he not in New York then? And he was also surprised Pepper wasn’t there to greet Tony. But Tony didn’t mention it. Maybe she was busy. Or maybe he’d noticed she wasn’t there either, and it wasn’t something he really felt like bringing up.

    If Bucky was there, he didn’t say anything to Steve. There was no soft touch or whisper of clothing to suggest that he was. The assassin had caught him off guard so many times before, was it really wishful thinking to wonder if he was there on the roof with them?

    Steve didn’t ask. It would be humiliating regardless of the answer. Maybe Bucky was gone too. With Clint. On a mission. Tony had mentioned Bucky was taking assignments now. That might be good. This was good.

    Different. Different from the last time Steve had been with Bucky. The searing skim of fingertips and soft words to ease Steve’s mind. And the heat in his touch. Different, and familiar still. Like Bucky pushing him up against the wall and running his hands over him just to pull away at a dizzying speed. Shouting at him and shutting him out. Yeah. He remembered this well.

    He tried to break that train of thought. He had no idea where Bucky was. _Let’s not jump to conclusions big guy._

    They made it inside with relative ease and hauled him to an elevator to take him to the floor of the lab.

    “What a welcome party. This is all so exciting. Oh, to be home again. Oh, to see the smiling faces of my friends.” Tony’s voice bounced off the metal walls of the box and made Steve wince. It went unnoticed, thankfully.

    “Excuse our lack of decorations,” Nat clipped. “It was on short notice. We couldn’t get to Party City in time.”

    “You know Steve likes clowns. Couldn’t you have at least tried to get Bimbo or Bozo?”

    “I don’t like clowns, actually.”

    “I know, Tony. You don’t think I tried?”

    “It’s true,” Bruce chimed in. “We offered them a lot of your money, but they already had prior engagements.”

    “They actually freak me out a lot.”

    Natasha sighed in dismay. “The fucking clowns and their code of ethics.”

    “I guess it’s true what they say: Ain’t in it for the money, only in it for the funny.”

    Steve’s head spun. The elevator ‘binged’ and they stepped out into what Steve really hoped was the lab. He needed some more of those special painkillers. Mostly from being around Natasha and Tony, but the headache was also getting worse again.

    “Alright. Time to run some tests.” Bruce clapped his hands and Steve groaned, the sound piercing his brain like a long sharp needle. “Heh. Sorry.”

 

    A woman was screaming. It made the blood sink away from your face and into your feet. It was the ragged shrill of someone in a great deal of pain and had been that way for a while. It echoed around the concrete cell, making Steve drop to his knees as if to pray. He clutched his head and screamed himself, the pain so bright. Behind his eyes. He swallowed another wail, getting the pain under control just enough to crack his eyes open and look around.

    It was dark, but he could just make out a skinny creature in the corner with lank dark hair and bony shoulders curling in on herself. She too was clutching her head. Her wailing was cut short by Steve’s own involuntary noise. Her eyes were a shocking green and her face was much too angular. Her left eye was swollen shut, and when she spoke, she was missing teeth.

    When she spoke, it was to Steve.

    When she spoke, it made him freeze, bile rising to his throat and knocking the wind out of him. “Find me. You _have to find me_!” It was the scream of a woman who’d seen her children slain and her kingdom fall. There was agony, but mostly fury.

    It was like she was branding his mind. He curled up again and had to match her screams with his own. At first, he couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t think. Only pain.

    This is where the headaches were coming from. This intense pain. There was a woman living inside his head. And she had been screaming for days. “Please! Please stop!” But it was _find me find me FIND ME_ over and over again. She was thrashing at him like a chained dog. Perhaps she really was chained to the wall. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t even focus his eyes.

    “Please stop,” he shuttered, body breaking down. He was going to pass out, and he dove into the darkness. Anything to get away.

   

    There were people surrounding him, and the need to vomit was so immediate, there was really nothing he could do besides turn his body to the side and try not to choke to death on the foul liquid. There was a lot of cursing and stern talking. Someone was calling his name and rubbing his back. He jerked away from the touch. It made his stomach roll again.

    “Jesus fucking Christ.”

    First thing’s first. Bucky. “Bucky.”

    “Fuck!”

    “Go get Barnes!”

    “What the _hell_ is going on?”

    “He’s not here!”

    “He just landed. JARVIS-”

    There was more vomit. It came so fast that it burned out of his nose. Wave after wave of nausea. Several sets of hands grabbed his left arm and he felt a needle pierce his skin. _No_! He had to stay awake. He couldn’t go back to her. She would kill him.

    He ripped the needle out which just caused more shouting. “Bucky. Please.” God, was that his voice? It sounded like a woodchipper.

    “Steve, you need to calm down.”

    He reached blindly for their shirt and managed to grab it by the collar, bringing them down to his level in a brutal yank. He heard the breath go out of them, and there were hands trying to pry him away. “You didn’t see it. How could you possibly tell me to calm down where you _didn’t fucking see it?_ ” He was snarling like a mad dog, but he couldn’t control himself. It was just rage. Rage and anguish for what he’d lost. And the fear of being trapped until he was saved, and the uncertainty of being saved at all. He was going to die in the filthy fucking cell. Beaten to death by that monster with the beautiful face and tragic eyes and soft hands that make hard fists.

    No. That wasn’t him. That was her.

“Steve. Let go of her.” It was almost scary how quickly Steve zeroed in on Bucky’s voice. There was literally nothing else. Just his voice. It froze everything in Steve’s mind. Like old metal, he slowly uncurled his fingers and let go of whoever he’d been holding. He was so close to snapping their neck. It was Natasha. He could’ve killed Natasha.

    He was going crazy. The woman was gone. He wasn’t there anymore. He was on a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors, and he was terrified. The anger left him as if it were never there in the first place.

    “ _Bucky_ ,” he sobbed once, body breaking down once again. Only this time there was no escape. He folded into himself and shook. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”

    “You didn’t do anything, Steve. It’s okay.”

    He couldn’t catch his breath. “Put me _down_.”

    “You-what?”

    “No. Put me down. I can’t be controlled. I am a liability-”

    “Stop.”

    “-I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here. Just fucking end it, please, Bucky, I can’t-”

    “Stop it!”

   

    Natasha’s fingers worked through his hair like magic. She ran her short nails over his scalp and smoothed down the hair with her small palms. He sat between her legs on the carpeted floor of her bedroom and rubbed his thumb over a  small foreign coin. It wasn’t perfectly circular, as if it had been made by hand and not machine. He smoothed over the rough edges of the medal and turned it in his hand, trying to visualize the object. It was almost square. The sides were rougher than the face, and it was of slightly uneven thickness.

    The face of it was some design pressed into it. It was worn down and some of the word or picture melted in with the rest of the coin so that he couldn’t tell what it was from feeling alone, and already difficult task.

    They sat like that for a long time. He focused on the coin.

    “There is a woman at the Hydra base.” Natasha’s hands didn’t stop moving for a second. She rubbed his temples down to his neck and then back up again. “She needs our help.”

    “Is that the woman you saw?”

    “Yeah. I’ve...I’ve been hearing her too. Every once and awhile.”

    “What does she say?”

    “Find me. Find me. That’s all she says.”

    “I guess we should find her then.”

Her voice was like his mother when he’d come back from school, beaten bloody when Bucky couldn’t save him. He’d look into her eyes and wasn’t able to say sorry for worrying her. Because if he’d gone back in time, he would’ve done the same. He hated a bully. They had it coming, and no one else was going to step up to the plate.

    “Steve, why does it always have to be you?” she murmured, dabbing his cuts with antiseptic. He squeezed his eyes against the sting and the sharp smell. “There were two of them, both bigger than you by 20 pounds. What were you expecting to happen when you rush in with no plan?”

    “To give that boy a chance to run away.”

    “And to get the snot kicked out of you.”

    “I gave ‘em hell, ma.”

    To her credit, she tried her best not to smile. He didn’t miss it though, and despite the whack to the head, he knew that she was proud of him. “Can you at least start picking your battles a little bit? I mean, if you are going to fight anyway because lord knows I’ve tried to get you off the streets and into school.”

    “Normally I have Bucky chasing after me. He helps me out sometimes. And drags me away when he’s too chicken to get his hands a lil bit dirty.”

    “That boy. You and him are so funny. Looking at you kids, I would have never thought that you would be the bad influence on him. And now you’re telling me that you are dragging that poor boy into fights he wants no part of.”

    “Who else is gonna keep the streets clean? The good for nothing cops?”

    This got a whole laugh out of his mother, and he knew he’d charmed her onto his side enough that she wasn’t really mad at him anymore. After cleaning his knuckles, she put the cotton swabs and medicine away. Taking his face with both her hands, she looked him in the eyes, dead serious. “Just promise me you will never get yourself into something that you can’t handle, okay? For me. Promise.”

    He swallowed. “I promise, Ma. I promise.”

    “Steve?” Natasha’s voice was beside him now, on the floor, and her hands were no long massaging him. He hadn’t noticed her move. His skin broke out in gooseflesh.

    “Yeah?”

    “You disappeared on me for a second.”

    “Oh.” He shifted his weight. Yeah.

    “Tony said you’ve been dissociating.”

    “Sometimes I get lost in memories. That’s all.” He ducked his head, embarrassed suddenly. “I try not to,” he whispered.

    “It’s okay. You’re okay, Steve. I just-” She cut herself off and took his hands in hers. He held them gently, always shocked at how small she was. Even if he couldn’t see the size difference, he could feel her slender fingers wrap around his own. “What were you thinking of?”

    “My mom. She used to bandage me up after I got into scuffles. She hated it.”

    Nat laughed out of her nose and pulled a hand away only to cup his face. “I can see her in your face. I can see you see her.” Her thumb brushed over his swollen eye. It didn’t hurt very much after pressing ice on it for so long, but his breath was still caught in his throat. “Did she know him?”

    “Yeah.” She cupped his neck, holding him steady. “Have you always been this touchy?”

    “I can stop.”

    “No. Please.” Her fingers gave a slight squeeze, and his eyes slipped closed. “Yeah, she knew him. She was friends with his mom, and so I’d eat over at their place all the time. They were a little bit better off, mostly because of all the medicine she used to have to buy me. But he’d be over at my place all the time too. She….she told me I was a bad influence on him.” He couldn’t help but smile. “He was always the perfect angle around her, even though she really wasn’t fooled. She knew he was just as bad as me.” His smile slipped away. “I wonder if it’s ever possible to get over someone you loved after they die. She died 5 or 6 years before Project Rebirth and I-I don’t think I ever really got over it. But then I think of the Howlies, and Bucky’s little sister, and even Peggy, and all I feel is numb. Like I never knew them. Like they were only history and not friends.” He took a shuddering breath.

    “Nat, I’m so sorry,” he choked out. Feeling her small hands in his, it felt impossible that he’d been so close to hurting her. That he might have scared one of his best friends made him feel ill. Only a monster would betray her after she’s been through so much. And even though she’d bare her teeth and snarl at anyone who questioned her strength, he knew she was more vulnerable than she let on. And he was just starting to understand her more. She was just starting to let him in. To _trust_ him.

    God, he truly didn’t know what he would’ve done if Bucky weren’t there to stop him. All those people shouting at him, and those terrible screams of the woman in the cell echoing in his ear. For a second, he’d truly slipped into madness.

    “Steve, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything.”

    “I could have-”

    “But you wouldn’t have.”

    “How can you know that?”

    “Because I know you. I know you.” And in an act of sisterhood, she brought his head forward and pressed it against her own forehead. “When Fury first recruited me, I was a mess. I was hardly human. I was a weapon, truly. I worked really hard at becoming human again though. But God, it was hard. And I had my regressions. And sometimes, they were bad, Steve. One time, after my first mission, I was totally wrecked. Maybe it was too early, or maybe I would have always reacted that way. But I was paranoid and violent. Clint helped me through a lot of things, and I guess he thought me might help me through this too. But he couldn’t. He tried to make sure I was okay by breaking into my place.”

    “Jesus Clint.”

    “He’s a big dummy, I know.” She tightened her grip. “I attacked him. He was unarmed and unprepared. And I beat him so bad, Steve. He even tried to fight back, and I think he thought I would kill him. But he kept saying my name and it was like a light switch, and then I knew exactly what I was doing. Brought him to the infirmary. He was fine after a couple weeks.”

    “I avoided him for weeks like a total coward. But then, finally got around to apologizing, and he forgave me. I didn't deserve his forgiveness, but he gave it to me for nothing. I think that’s when I became human again.”

    Steve’s lips trembled, so he pushed them together. “I didn’t know.”

    “And now you do.”

    “I don’t deserve you.”

    “And yet you have me.”

    He took a moment to regain his emotions. “I saw a woman. She needs our help. I think she was still in the Hydra base we raided.”

    Nat took in a sharp breath. “You think-”

    “Yeah. I can’t think of any other way.” He shook his head. “I know it.” And he really did. The panic, the fear, the rank stench of piss and sickness. She was real. It was too vivid not to be. She gave him a vision, or maybe even teleported him there somehow. Like, with magic. He knew she was real though, just like he knew he was real. “I was in her head. I felt her-everything was-” He shook his head. “She needs our help, Nat. Even if she isn’t the one who took my eyes. Hydra had her and she’s gifted.”

    “Okay. Then we go back.”

   

  There were 5 pounds on the door, so loud Bucky briefly wondered if the Hulk himself was here to kill him, and he was only being polite about the door. After all, it would just be a disservice to Tony to break everything if Bucky would just open the door anyway.

    Then he remembered that the Hulk couldn’ve give a rats ass about a fucking door and that if the Hulk wanted him dead, then he would be dead already.

    That being said, there were a lot of hostiles in the tower at the moment. He wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the entire building wanted him dead. Besides Steve. Hopefully. Or maybe, it might be better to have Steve want him dead. The man has no self-preservation skills whatsoever. If Steve finally wanted him dead, then it would really be a godsend. That would mean he’d finally learned something in the year he was awake, or the 70 that he was asleep.

    Bucky certainly learned a lot from the 70 that he was with Hydra. Like, how to be a complete fuck up. Like how to betray everyone who had shown you kindness. How to die and wake up as a demon. How to hurt the only thing he loves, has ever loved, again and again _and again. And how to kill the innocent and praise the evil. And how to scalp a man without killing him and how to fight through broken bones and how to crush a woman's skull with his hands may God strike him down where he stands-_

    There were 5 more pounds, and Bucky snarled and tore his blankets off from where they had been pulled taught over him, creating a cocoon. Was this his death sentence?

    But when he opened the door, Agent Hill was standing in front of him. Her face was grim, but that was not unusual for her. There was no anger, and he found himself floundering before the conversation even began, her presence so unexpected. He only saw her when there was a mission.

    “Sergeant Barnes.” She nodded a greeting but didn’t allow time for him to respond, not that he could anyway. “Get your things ready. You are leaving tomorrow morning with Stark, Romanave, and the Captain on a mission. You will be briefed on the plane.”

    “No,” Bucky rasped.

    “You are to report on the loading dock at oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning-”

    “No. No, I can’t-” _Not with Steve. A mission? What the hell is going on?_

    “Bring all your usual gear. We will have anything extra loaded on the plane, as always-”

    He couldn’t help it. He was already on edge, losing his cool, and now he was getting assigned on _a mission with Steve?_ How could they possibly think this was a good idea? Was everyone in this entire operation a complete fool? He took a step forward, crowded her space, and let rip a low growl, like a feral animal. “Listen to me woman! I said no.”

    Hill lifted her chin and didn’t step back. “You will go with them. There has been a lead on how Captain Rogers was blinded, and we need every advantage we can get. You _will_ go on this mission because you need to be there.”

    “How can you think this is a good idea? I just came back from a mission. Today, in fact. Don’t know if SHIELD keeps records of those sort of trivial things. And now you think that I’m gonna go to some fucking HYDRA base with Steve?! You all must be fucking crazy! I’m supposed to be the crazy one here!” He laughed, and it came out a little more hysterical than he’d hoped for. Well, it proved his point then.

    “If I may be frank, James, I am a professional, and so are you.” He couldn’t help a step back. _A professional._ “You are needed because no matter what is going on, in the end, I know you will help him get his sight back, and you won’t let anything distract you.”

    Bucky sneered. “Why? Because I turn into a robot when I’m out there? _The Asset?_ ” he hissed.

    Hill sighed, dropped the military attitude, again catching him off guard. It seemed like he still expected a fight, a punishment, anything that set him in place when he was acting erratically. A crack in the jaw or a bullet in the leg. Something. Not calm stubbornness, even after everyone had seen him-

    “Barnes, the fact of the matter is, we need you on the team. You always reserve the right to say no. But we have a shot to get the Captain’s vision back, and you’re one of the best we’ve got. You want to make it up to him? Help the man see again.”

    Maybe if it had been Bruce saying those things, Bucky would have broken down and confided in him. _I’m scared. I can’t control myself around him. I just mess up. That’s why I stayed away in the first place._ Instead, his back locked up with tension and he grunted out a “Fine.”

_Chance after chance after second-fucking-chance. Don’t screw this up, Branes._


End file.
